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THE  LIBRARY 

£       OF 
THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


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OF 

ANITA  D.  S.  BLAKE 


OUR  FRIENDS,  THE  BEASTS 
A  SERIES  OF  ANTHOLOGIES 
EDITED  BY  AGNES  REPPLIER 


THE   CAT 


BEING   A   RECORD  OF   THE  ENDEARMENTS   AND 

INVECTIVES  LAVISHED  BY  MANY  WRITERS 

UPON  AN  ANIMAL   MUCH  LOVED 

AND  MUCH  ABHORRED 


COLLECTED,  TRANSLATED  AND  ARRANGED  BY 

AGNES  REPPLIER 

AUTHOR     OF     "THE     FIRESIDE     SPHINX " 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

ELISABETH  F.  BONSALL 


You   hold   your   race   traditions   fast, 
While  others  toil,  you  simply  live; 

And,  based  upon  a  stable  past, 
Remain  a  sound  conservative. 


STURGIS  &  WALTON 

COMPANY 

1912 


Copyright,  1912 
By  STURGIS  &  WALTON  COMPANY 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.    Published,  October,  1912 


GIFT 


-o 


A/GilD 


5 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


THE  CAT  AMONG  FRIENDS 


The   Cat     

Benson 

.      .       3 

The  Cat  of  Egypt    . 

Herodotus 

.      .       5 

Montaigne  and  His  Cat   . 

Montaigne 

.      .       6 

The  Cat  as  a  Royal  Envoy 

Reynard  the  Fox 

.     .       7 

The  Lover  whose  Mistresse 

Feared  a  Mouse   .     .     . 

Tuberville 

.      .       8 

An  Appreciation 

Chateaubriand     . 

.      .       9 

The  Contemplative  Life    . 

Lang   .... 

.      .     10 

The    Cat 

Gardiner  . 

.      .     11 

Lines     

Goldsmith 

.      .     13 

Firelight 

Heine  .... 

.      .     14 

A  Poet's   Kitten 

Cowper 

.      .     15 

The  Kitten 

Baillie 

.      .     16 

The  Kitten 

Champfleury 

.      .     20 

Good  and  Bad  Kittens  . 

Herford    . 

.      .     23 

Lines     

Herrick     . 

.      .     24 

Dido 

Southey    . 

.      .     25 

In  Memoriam       .... 

Southey    . 

.      .     26 

Strength    Which    Lies    in 

Delicacy 

Hamerton 

.      .     27 

The  Companionable  Cat    . 

Hamerton 

.      .     28 

The  Kitten  and  the  Fall- 

ing Leaves  

Wordsuyorth  . 

.      .     29 

Pussy-Wlllows     .... 

Herford    . 

.      .     31 

The  London  Cat  .... 

Spectator 

.      .     32 

Practice 

Taine  .... 

.      .     33 

Auld  Bawthren's  Song 

Anonymous    . 

.      .     34 

My  Lord  Buckhurst  Play- 

ing with  a  Cat     .     .     . 

Prior  .... 

.      .     36 

A  Cat 

Jules  Lemaitre  . 

.      .     37 

487 


CONTENTS 


THE  CAT  AMONG  FOES 


To     a     Cat     Which     Had 

Killed  a  Bird  ....  Agathias 
The  Cat  Which  Robbed  a 

Dove-Cote Alnaharwany 

The  Witch  Cat   ....  Repplier 

Anathema  Mabanatha  .     .  Skelton 

False  Gods Baruch 

Ailubophobia Mitchell 

Antipathy Wanley 

A  Martyr Anonymous 

The  Old  Cat  and  the  Young 

Mouse La  Fontaine 

A  Cat's  Conscience  .      .      .  Anonymous 

Punchinello  and  the  Cat  .  Champfleury 


41 

42 
44 
47 
49 
50 
52 
53 

54 
55 
56 


THE  CAT  LOVER  SPEAKS 


Le  Chat  Nora 
The  Cat's  Progress 
Arsinoe's    Cats    . 
Cats       .... 
To  a  Cat   .     .     . 
To  a  Favourite  Cat 
Epitaph  on  a  Cat     . 
The  Cat's  Coronach 


Graham   Tomson      .      .  61 

Eavard 62 

Graham    Tomson      .      .  65 

Baudelaire     ....  67 

Swinburne     ....  68 

La  Duchesse  du  Maine  70 

La  Mothe   le   Vayer     .  71 

Anonymous    ....  72 


CAT  PORTRAITS 


The  Cat  of  Great  Britain 
Catus,  the  Cat   . 
Lines     

HlNSE    OF    HlNSEFELD 

Hodge    

Hodge,  the  Cat   . 
Atossa        .... 


Berihlet 75 

Salmon 76 

Chaucer 77 

Scott 78 

Boswell 79 

Coolidge 80 

Arnold 83 


VI 


CONTENTS 


Atossa  

Moumoutte  Blanche 
moumoutte  chinoise     . 
The  Two  Cats     .     .     . 

Eponine 

Don  Pierrot  de  Navarre 


Arnold 84 

Loti 85 

Loti 88 

Loti 92 

Gautier 95 

Gautier 98 


Nero Repplier 102 

Calvin Warner 105 

Corporation  Cats     .     .     .  The  Spectator    .     .     .109 

Tom  of  Corpus     ....  Pollock 110 

Oliver Huxley 112 

Oliver Huxley 113 

Mentu Benson 114 

The  Shah  of  Persia     .     .  Janvier 116 

Peter;  an  Elegy      .     .     .  Scollard 119 

Peace  and  War   ....  Southey 121 

The  Freebooter   ....  Darwin 123 


CAT  TALES 


Sad  Memories       ....     Calverley 
The   Young   Man   and   His 

Cat 

The  Ratcatcher  and  Cats  . 
A  Captain's  Kitten  .     .     . 

A  Sailor 

The  Point  of  View  .  .  . 
An  Encounter  .... 
The  Retired  Cat       .     .     . 

A  Wanderer 

An  Outcast 

A  Poet  to  the  Rescue  .  . 
The  Colubriad     .... 

Discipline 

A  Letter  of  Condolence  . 
On  the  Death  of  a  Favorite 

Cat Gray 

vii 


.  127 


JEsop 131 

Gay 132 

Fielding 135 

Repplier 137 

Froude 140 

Gautier 142 

Cowper 144 

Lang 149 

Michelet 150 

Cowper 152 

Cowper 154 

Repplier 156 

Gray 157 


158 


CONTENTS 


THE  CAT  IN  THE  NURSERY 

Education        Herford 163 

Marigold Gamett 164 

Nuesery  Rhymes 165 

A  Sea  Fight Berneville      .      .      .      .166 

Nursery  Rhymes 168 

Mere  Michel 169 

The    Cattie    Sits    in    the 

Kiln-Ring Anonymous    .      .      .      .170 

Grisette  Dines    ....    DeshoulUdres      .     .     .172 


vin 


ACKNOWLEDGMENTS 

My  sincere  thanks  are  due  to  all  the  authors 
who  have  courteously  permitted  me  to  include  their 
work  in  this  volume,  which  otherwise  would  have 
been  hopelessly  inadequate.  Also  to  Mr.  Marriott 
Watson,  who  has  allowed  me  to  reprint  Mrs.  Mar- 
riott Watson's  two  admirable  poems,  and  to  Mrs. 
Charles  Dudley  Warner,  who  has  given  me  the  ex- 
tract from  Mr.  Warner's  "Calvin."  Also  to 
Harper  and  Brothers,  publishers  of  Mr.  Swin- 
burne's poems  and  of  Mr.  Janvier's  stories ;  to  The 
Macmillan  Company,  publishers  of  Mr.  Matthew 
Arnold's  letters  and  poems;  to  D.  Appleton  and 
Company,  publishers  of  Mr.  Huxley's  life  and  let- 
ters ;  to  the  Houghton  Mifflin  Company,  publishers 
of  Mr.  Warner's  "  Calvin,  a  Study  of  Character  " ; 
to  Mr.  John  Lane,  publisher  of  Mr.  Benson's  and 
of  Mrs.  Marriott  Watson's  poems;  to  Charles 
Scribner's  Sons,  publishers  of  Mr.  Herford's 
poems ;  and  to  Mr.  William  Heinemann,  publisher 
of  Margaret  Benson's  "  The  Soul  of  a  Cat." 


IX 


THE    CAT 


INTRODUCTION 

It  is  not  the  easy  and  grateful  task  to  trace  the 
cat,  as  we  may  trace  the  dog,  through  history  and 
literature.  All  nations  have  conspired  to  praise 
the  animal  which  loves  and  serves.  Few  and  cold 
are  the  praises  given  to  the  animal  which  seldom 
loves  and  never  serves,  which  has  only  the  grace 
c>f  companionship  to  offer  in  place  of  the  dog's 
passionate  fidelity.  There  is  no  cat  to  put  by  the 
side  of  the  hound,  Argos, —  Argos,  old,  blind, 
shivering  on  a  dung-heap,  who  recognizes  Odysseus 
in  his  beggar's  garb,  and  dies  of  joy  at  his  master's 
return.  There  is  no  such  epitaph  on  a  cat  as  that 
of  Simonides  on  a  hound  of  Thessaly : 

"  Surely  even  as  thou  liest  in  this  tomb,  I  deem  the 
wild  beasts  yet  fear  thy  white  bones,  Lycas;  and  thy 
valour  great  Pelion  knows,  and  the  lonely  peaks  of 
Cithaeron." 

xiii 


THE    CAT 


There  is  no  word  of  Shakespeare's  to  which  the 
cat-lover  may  turn  with  delight,  as  the  hunter  turns 
to  the  gallant  lines  of  Theseus : 

"  My  hounds  are  hred  out  of  the  Spartan  kind, 
So  flew'd,  so  sanded;  and  their  heads  are  hung 
With  ears  that  sweep  away  the  morning  dew." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  all  the  earliest  notices  of 
the  cat  are  peevish  outcries  against  her  freebooting 
instincts,  her  spirit  of  stubborn  independence. 
She  was  centuries  winning  a  foothold  in  society 
even  as  the 

"  harmless  necessary  cat/' 

that  rid  the  household  of  mice,  and  any  deviation 
from  duty's  path  brought  down  upon  her  graceful 
head  a  torrent  of  abuse. 

"  These  vylanous  false  cattes 
Were  made  for  mice  and  rattes, 
And  not  for  byrdes  small/' 

writes  John  Skelton,  with  unwarranted  confidence 
in  the  discrimination  of  nature's  laws. 

"  Grimalkin,  the  foul  Fiend's  cat, 
Grimalkin,  the  witche's  brat," 

runs  an  old  rhyme,  expressing  the  popular  preju- 
dice of  its  day. 

xiv 


THE    CAT 


"  A  ha-penny  cat  may  look  at  a  king," 

says  a  Scotch  proverb,  blatantly  contemptuous  of 
Pussy's  place  in  the  order  of  creation. 

It  was  not  until  the  arts  of  peace  had  supplanted 
the  arts  of  war,  and  men  had  leisure  to  make  them- 
selves comfortable,  that  the  cat  emerged  from  ob- 
scurity, and  evinced  a  laudable  disposition  to  share 
this  comfort.  It  was  not  until  a  growing  taste  for 
luxury  softened  the  old  hardy,  turbulent  life,  that 
the  cat  felt  herself  at  ease  by  the  firesides  of  civil- 
ization. She  was  cautious  in  her  advances,  sharing 
the  deep  mistrust  which  she  inspired,  and  reserved 
even  with  her  friends.  The  most  domestic  of  ani- 
mals, by  virtue  of  her  attachment  to  her  home,  she 
has  never  made  a  full  surrender  of  her  freedom. 
The  most  companionable  of  animals,  by  virtue  of 
her  softness,  her  silence,  her  orderly  instincts  and 
her  innate  self-respect,  she  grants  her  friendship 
only  on  terms  of  equality.  The  most  suave  of  ani- 
mals, she  remains  a  mystery,  as  impenetrable  now 
as  when  she  shared  the  witch's  knowledge  and  the 
witch's  doom. 

For  all  these  reasons,  people  who  write  about 
cats  do  so,  for  the  most  part,  in  terms  of  exaggera- 
tion. The  world  is  divided  into  men  and  women 
who  love  cats,  and  men  and  women  who  cordially 
detest  them.     It  seems  difficult  to  preserve  an  atti- 

xv 


THE    CAT 


tude  of  neutrality  towards  a  beast  whose  most 
striking  characteristic  is  indifference.  This  is 
especially  the  case  with  French  authors.  From 
the  shuddering  cry  of  Ronsard, 

"  No  living  man,  of  things  beneath  the  sky, 
Can  hate  a  cat  more  bitterly  than  I ; 
I  hate  its  eyes,  its  face,  its  very  stare;" 

to  the  fervent  lines  of  Baudelaire,  whose  love  for 
his  cats  was  a  fantastic  passion,  we  find  much  that 
is  beautiful,  but  little  that  is  temperate.  "  Only 
a  Frenchman,"  observes  M.  Gautier,  "  can  under- 
stand the  subtle  organization  of  a  cat."  Only  a 
Frenchman  can  write  about  his  cats  in  minute  de- 
tail, with  delicate  sympathy,  and  with  a  high 
quality  of  imagination.  The  Germans  have  been 
prompt  to  recognize  Pussy's  mysterious  personal- 
ity, and  keenly  alive  to  her  domestic  usefulness; 
but  they  have  seldom  sought  to  make  of  her  a 
friend. 

In  England  and  in  America  the  cat's  progress 
to  favour  has  been  slow  and  sure.  A  hundred 
years  lie  between  Miss  Joanna  Baillie's 

— "  careful,  comely,  mousing  cat," 

and  Mr.  Swinburne's 

"  Stately,  kindly,  lordly  friend," 
xvi 


THE   CAT; 


and,  in  these  hundred  years,  English  writers  have 
at  last  learned  to  value  at  their  utmost  worth  the 
qualities  which  so  long  repelled  enthusiasm.  They 
have  much  to  say  about  the  cat's  beauty;  but  they 
grow  eloquent  over  her  love  of  liberty,  her  manifest 
reserves,  her  contemptuous  serenity  of  bearing. 
They  describe  with  delight  her  nocturnal  wander- 
ings, her  human  interest  in  her  own  comfort,  the 
calmness  with  which  she  permits  herself  to  be 
waited  upon,  and  her  steadfast  refusal  to  bend  her 
will  to  the  capricious  demands  of  humanity.  They 
have  discovered  that  she  is  the  most  charming  of 
play-fellows,  the  most  soothing  of  companions ;  and 
that  the  friendship  which  is  hard  to  win  and  hard 
to  hold  is  worth  at  least  as  much  as  the  friendship 
which  is  given  for  the  asking. 

I  have  laboured  con  amore  to  pursue  the  vicissi- 
tudes and  the  triumphs  of  the  cat,  as  set  forth  in 
French  and  English  letters.  I  have  tracked  her 
soft  footprints  along  quiet  paths  and  broad  high- 
ways. I  offer  the  fruits  of  my  toil  to  all  who 
share  my  deference  for  the  most  self-respecting, 
my  admiration  for  the  most  charming,  my  love  for 
the  most  lovable  of  beasts. 


xvn 


THE  CAT 


The  Cat 


On  some  grave  business,  soft  and  slow, 
Along  the  garden-paths  you  go, 

With  bold  and  burning  eyes: 
Or  stand,  with  twitching  tail,  to  mark 
What  starts  and  rustles  in  the  dark, 

Among  the  peonies. 

The  dusty  cockchafer  that  springs 
Upon  the  dusk  with  whirring  wings, 

The  beetle,  glossy-horned, 
The  rabbit  pattering  through  the  fern, 
May  frisk  unheeded,  by  your  stern 

Preoccupation  scorned. 

You  go,  and  when  the  morning  dawns 
O'er  blowing  trees  and  dewy  lawns, 

Dim-veiled  with  gossamer, 
When  cheery  birds  are  on  the  wing, 
You  creep,  a  wild  and  wicked  thing, 

With  stained  and  starting  fur. 

You  all  day  long,  beside  the  fire, 
Retrace  in  dreams  your  dark  desire, 
And  mournfully  complain 


THE    CAT 


In  grave  displeasure,  if  I  raise 
Your  languid  form  to  pet  or  praise; 
And  so  to  sleep  again. 

The  gentler  hound  that  near  me  lies, 
Looks  up  with  true  and  tender  eyes, 

And  waits  my   generous  mirth; 
You  do  not  woo  me,  but  demand 
A  gift  from  my  unwilling  hand, 

A  tribute  to  your  worth. 

You  loved  me  when  the  fire  was  warm, 
But,  now  I  stretch  a  fondling  arm, 

You  eye  me  and  depart. 
Cold  eyes,  sleek  skin,  and  velvet  paws, 
You  win  my  indolent  applause, 

You  do  not  win  my  heart. 

Arthur  Christopher  Benson. 


THE    CAT: 


The  Cat  of  Egypt 

The  number  of  domestic  animals  in  Egypt  is 
very  great,  and  would  be  still  greater,  were  it  not 
for  what  befalls  the  cats.  As  the  females,  when 
they  have  kittened,  no  longer  seek  the  company 
of  the  males,  these  last,  to  obtain  once  more  their 
companionship,  practise  a  curious  artifice.  They 
seize  the  kittens,  carry  them  off,  and  kill  them; 
but  do  not  eat  them  afterwards.  Upon  this,  the 
females,  being  deprived  of  their  young,  and  long- 
ing to  supply  their  place,  seek  the  males  once 
more,  since  they  are  particularly  fond  of  their  off- 
spring. 

On  every  occasion  of  a  fire  in  Egypt,  the  stran- 
gest prodigy  occurs  with  the  cats.  The  inhabit- 
ants allow  the  fire  to  rage  as  it  pleases,  while  they 
stand  about  at  intervals  and  watch  these  animals, 
which,  slipping  by  the  men,  or  else  leaping  over 
them,  rush  headlong  into  the  flames.  When  this 
happens,  the  Egyptians  are  in  deep  affliction.  If 
a  cat  dies  in  a  private  house  by  a  natural  death, 
all  the  inmates  of  the  house  shave  their  eyebrows. 
The  dead  cats  are  taken  to  the  city  of  Bubastis, 
where  they  are  embalmed,  after  which  they  are 
buried  in  certain  sacred  repositories. 

.Herodotus. 
Version  of  George  Rawlinson,  M.A. 
5 


THE    CAT 


Montaigne  and  his  Cat 

When  my  cat  and  I  entertain  each  other  with 
mutual  antics,  as  playing  with  a  garter,  who  knows 
but  that  I  make  more  sport  for  her  than  she  makes 
for  me?  Shall  I  conclude  her  to  be  simple  that  has 
her  time  to  begin  or  to  refuse  to  play,  as  freely 
as  I  have  mine.  Nay,  who  knows  but  that  it  is  a 
defect  of  my  not  understanding  her  language  (for 
doubtless  cats  can  talk  and  reason  with  one  an- 
other) that  we  agree  no  better;  and  who  knows 
but  that  she  pities  me  for  being  no  wiser  than  to 
play  with  her;  and  laughs,  and  censures  my  folly 
in  making  sport  for  her,  when  we  two  play  to- 
gether. 

Montaigne. 


6 


THE    CAT= 


The  Cat  as  a  Royal  Envoy 

Thenne  the  kynge  of  the  beastis  salde  to  the 
catte :  "  Syr  Tybert,  ye  shal  now  goo  to  Reynart, 
and  saye  to  hym  this  seconde  tyme  that  he  come 
to  court,  for  to  answere  unto  the  plea ;  for  though 
he  be  felle  to  other  beastis,  he  trusteth  you  wel, 
and  shal  doo  by  your  counseyl.  And  telle  hym  if 
he  come  not,  he  shal  have  the  thirde  warning,  and 
if  he  thenne  come  not,  we  shal  procede  by  ryght 
agenste  hym,  and  alle  hys  lyneage  wythout  mercy." 

The  catte  spake :  "  My  lord  the  kynge,  they  that 
thus  counseylde  you  were  not  my  frendes.  What 
shal  I  doo  there?  Reynart  wyl  not  for  me  neyther 
come  ne  abyde.  I  beseeche  you,  dere  kynge,  sende 
some  other  to  hym.  I  am  a  catte,  lytyl  and  feeble. 
Bruyn  the  beare,  which  was  so  grete  and  strong, 
coude  not  brynge  hym.  How  shold  I  thenne  take 
it  on  honde?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  the  kynge,  "  Sir  Tybert,  ye  ben 
wyse  and  wel  lerned.  Though  ye  be  not  grete, 
many  do  more  wyth  crafte  and  connyng  than  with 
myght  and  strengthe." 

Thenne  said  the  catte :  "  Syth  it  muste  nedes 
be  don,  I  muste  take  it  upon  me.  God  give  grace 
that  I  may  wel  achieve  it,  for  my  hearte  is  heavy 
and  evil  willed  thereto." 

Reynard  the  Fox.     From  the  edition 
printed  by  Caxton  in  1481. 
7 


THE    CAT 


The    Lover    Whose    Mistresse    Feared    a 
Mouse 

The  Squirrel  thinking  nought, 

That  feately  cracks  the  nut, 
The  greedie  Goshawke  wanting  prey, 

In  dread  of  Death  doth  put; 
But  scorning  all  these  kindes, 

I  would  become  a  Cat, 
To  combat  with  the  creeping  Mouse, 

And  scratch  the  screeking  Rat. 

I  would  be  present,  aye, 

And  at  my  Ladie's  call, 
To  gard  her  from  the  fearfull  Mouse, 

In  Parlour  and  in  Hall; 
In  Kitchen,  for  his  Lyf e, 

He  should  not  shew  his  hed; 
The  Pease  in  Poke  should  lie  untoucht 

When  shee  were  gone  to  Bed. 

The  Mouse  should  stand  in  Feare, 

So  should  the  squeaking  Rat; 
All  this  would  I  doe  if  I  were 

Converted  to  a  Cat. 

George  Tuberville. 


8 


THE   CAT= 


An  Appreciation 

I  value  in  the  cat  the  independent  and  almost 
ungrateful  spirit  which  prevents  her  from  attach- 
ing herself  to  any  one,  the  indifference  with  which 
she  passes  from  the  salon  to  the  housetop.  When 
we  caress  her,  she  stretches  herself  and  arches  her 
back  responsively ;  but  this  is  because  she  feels  an 
agreeable  sensation,  not  because  she  takes  a  silly 
satisfaction,  like  the  dog,  in  faithfully  loving  a 
thankless  master.  The  cat  lives  alone,  has  no  need 
of  society,  obeys  only  when  she  pleases,  pretends 
to  sleep  that  she  may  see  the  more  clearly,  and 
scratches  everything  on  which  she  can  lay  her  paw." 

Chateaubriand  to  M.  de  Marcellus. 


THE    CAT 


The  Contemplative  Life 

From  the  dawn  of  creation  the  cat  has  known 
his  place,  and  he  has  kept  it,  practically  untamed 
and  unspoiled  by  man.  He  has  retenue.  Of  all 
animals,  he  alone  attains  to  the  Contemplative  Life. 
He  regards  the  wheel  of  existence  from  without, 
like  the  Buddha.  There  is  no  pretence  of  sym- 
pathy about  the  cat.  He  lives  alone,  aloft,  sub- 
lime, in  a  wise  passiveness.  He  is  excessively 
proud;  and,  when  he  is  made  the  subject  of  con- 
versation, will  cast  one  glance  of  scorn,  and  leave 
the  room  in  which  personalities  are  bandied.  All 
expressions  of  emotion  he  scouts  as  frivolous  and 
insincere,  except,  indeed,  in  the  ambrosial  night, 
when,  free  from  the  society  of  mankind,  he  pours 
forth  his  soul  in  strains  of  unpremeditated  art. 
The  paltry  pay  and  paltry  praise  of  humanity 
he  despises,  like  Edgar  Poe.  He  does  not  exhibit 
the  pageant  of  his  bleeding  heart;  he  does  not 
howl  when  people  die,  nor  explode  in  cries  of  de- 
light when  his  master  returns  from  a  journey. 
With  quiet  courtesy,  he  remains  in  his  proper  and 
comfortable  place,  only  venturing  into  view  when 
something  he  approves  of,  such  as  fish  or  game, 
makes  its  appearance.  On  the  rights  of  property 
he  is  firm.  If  a  strange  cat  enters  his  domain,  he 
is  up  in  claws  to  resist  invasion.  It  was  for  these 
qualities,  probably,  that  the  cat  was  worshipped 
by  the  ancient  Egyptians.  Andrew  Lang. 

10    % 


THE    CAT= 


The  Cat 

I  like  the  simple  dignity 
That  hedges  round  the  cat; 

You  never  see  her  showing  off, 
She  lets  the  dog  do  that. 

You  never  catch  her  leaping  hoops, 
Nor  prancing  on  the  floor 

Upon  two  legs,  when  generous 
Dame  Nature  gave  her  four. 

We  train  the  dog  to  hunt  the  birds, 
And  beat  him  when  he  fails. 

He  works  all  day,  and  never  gets 
A  single  taste  of  quails. 

The  cat  is  wiser  far  than  he, 
She  hunts  for  birds  to  eat; 

She  does  not  run  her  legs  off,  just 
To  give  some  man  a  treat. 

All  cats,  no  matter  what  their  breed, 

Are  born  aristocrats; 
They  never,  like  the  terriers,  make 

A  trade  of  killing  rats. 

The  cat  will  rid  the  house  of  rats, 
Because  she  likes  the  fun, 

No  man  can  say  she's  moved  to  it, 
Because  he  wants  it  done. 
11 


THE    CAT 


Man  harnesses  the  lightning,  and 

Makes  steam  perform  his  will, 
The  horse  and  dog  his  bond-slaves  are, 

The  cat  eludes  him  still. 

The  dog's  man's  servant,  plaything,  drudge, 

A  foolish  altruist; 
The  cat,  in  spite  of  man,  remains 

Serene,  an  egotist. 

Talk  not  to  me  about  your  dog, 

It  is  but  idle  chat; 
Give  me  that  calm  philosopher 

Of  hearth  and  home,  the  cat. 

Ruth  Kimball  Gardiner. 


12 


THE    CAT^ 


Around,  in  sympathetic  mirth, 

Its  tricks  the  kitten  tries; 
The  cricket  chirrups  on  the  hearth, 

The  crackling  fagot  flies. 

Oliver  Goldsmith. 


13 


THE   CAT 


Firelight 

Musing,  I  sit  on  my  cushioned  settle, 

Facing  the  firelight's  fitful  shine; 
Sings  on  the  hob  the  simmering  kettle, 

Songs  that  seem  echoes  of  "  auld  lang  syne." 

And  close  beside  me  the  cat  sits  purring, 
Warming  her  paws  at  the  cheery  gleam ; 

The  flames  keep  flitting,  and  flicking,  and  whirring,- 
My  mind  is  lapped  in  a  realm  of  dream. 

Heinrich  Heine, 
Translated  by  Sir  Theodore  Martin. 


14 


THE   CAT 


A  Poet's  Kitten 

I  have  a  kitten,  my  dear,  the  drollest  of  all 
creatures  that  ever  wore  a  cat's  skin.  Her  gam- 
bols are  incredible,  and  not  to  be  described.  She 
tumbles  head  over  heels  several  times  together. 
She  lays  her  cheek  to  the  ground,  and  humps  her 
back  at  you  with  an  air  of  most  supreme  disdain. 
From  this  posture  she  rises  to  dance  on  her  hind 
feet,  an  exercise  which  she  performs  with  all  the 
grace  imaginable;  and  she  closes  these  various  ex- 
hibitions with  a  loud  smack  of  her  lips,  which,  for 
want  of  greater  propriety  of  expression,  we  call 
spitting.  But,  though  all  cats  spit,  no  cat  ever 
produced  such  a  sound  as  she  does.  In  point  of 
size,  she  is  likely  to  be  a  kitten  always,  being  ex- 
tremely small  for  her  age ;  but  time,  that  spoils  all 
things,  will,  I  suppose,  make  her  also  a  cat.  You 
will  see  her,  I  hope,  before  that  melancholy  period 
shall  arrive ;  for  no  wisdom  that  she  may  gain  by 
experience  and  reflection  hereafter  will  compensate 
for  the  loss  of  her  present  hilarity.  She  is  dressed 
in  a  tortoise-shell  suit,  and  I  know  that  you  will 
delight  in  her. 

William  Cowper  to  Lady  Hesheth. 


15 


THE    CAT 


The  Kitten 

Wanton  droll,  whose  harmless  play 

Beguiles  the  rustic's  closing  day, 

When,  drawn  the  evening  fire  about, 

Sit  aged  Crone  and  thoughtless  Lout, 

And  child  upon  his  three-foot  stool, 

Waiting  till  his  supper  cool; 

And  maid  whose  cheek  outblooms  the  rose, 

As  bright  the  blazing  faggot  glows, 

Who,  bending  to  the  friendly  light, 

Plies  her  task  with  busy  sleight; 

Come,  shew  thy  tricks  and  sportive  graces, 

Thus  circled  round  with  merry  faces. 


Backward  coiled,  and  crouching  low, 
With  glaring  eyeballs  watch  thy  foe; 
The  housewife's  spindle  whirling  round, 
Or  thread  or  straw,  that  on  the  ground 
Its  shadow  throws,  by  urchin  sly 
Held  out  to  lure  thy  roving  eye. 
Then,  onward  stealing,  fiercely  spring 
Upon  the  futile,  faithless  thing. 
Now,  wheeling  round  with  bootless  skill, 
Thy  bo-peep  tail  provokes  thee  still, 
And  oft,  beyond  thy  curving  side, 
Its  jetty  tip  is  seen  to  glide; 
Till,  from  thy  centre  starting  far, 
Thou  sidelong  rear'st,  with  tail  in  air 
16 


THE   CAT= 


Erected  stiff,  and  gait  awry, 
Like  Madam  in  her  tantrums  high; 
Though  ne'er  a  Madam  of  them  all 
Whose  silken  kirtle  sweeps  the  hall, 
More  varied  trick  and  whim  displays, 
To  catch  the  admiring  stranger's  gaze. 
Doth  power  in  measured  verses  dwell, 
All  thy  vagaries  wild  to  tell? 
Ah  no !  the  start,  the  j  et,  the  bound, 
The  giddy  scamper  round  and  round, 
With  leap,  and  j  erk,  and  high  curvet, 
And  many  a  whirling  somerset 
(Permitted  be  the  modern  Muse 
Expression  technical  to  use), 
These  mock  the  deftliest  rhymester's  skill, 
So  poor  in  art,  though  rich  in  will. 


The  nimblest  tumbler,  stage-bedight, 
To  thee  is  but  a  clumsy  wight, 
Who  every  limb  and  sinew  strains 
To  do  what  costs  thee  little  pains, 
For  which,  I  trow,  the  gaping  crowd 
Requites  him  oft  with  plaudits  loud. 
But,  stopped  the  while  thy  wanton  play, 
Applauses  too  thy  feats  repay: 
For  then,  beneath  some  urchin's  hand. 
With  modest  pride  thou  takest  thy  stand, 
While  many  a  stroke  of  fondness  glides 
Along  thy  back  and  tabby  sides. 
17  ' 


THE    CAT 


Dilated  swells  thy  glossy  fur, 

And  loudly  sings  thy  busy  purr, 

As,  timing  well  the  equal  sound, 

Thy  clutching  feet  bepat  the  ground, 

And  all  their  harmless  claws  disclose, 

Like  prickles  of  an  early  rose; 

While  softly  from  thy  whiskered  cheek 

Thy  half-closed  eyes  peer  mild  and  meek. 


Whence  hast  thou  then,  thou  witless  Puss, 
The  magic  power  to  charm  us  thus? 
Is  it,  that  in  thy  glaring  eye 
And  rapid  movements  we  descry, 
While  we  at  ease,  secure  from  ill, 
The  chimney  corner  snugly  fill, 
A  lion  darting  on  his  prey? 
A  tiger  at  his  ruthless  play? 
Or  is  it  that  in  thee  we  trace, 
With  all  thy  varied  wanton  grace, 
An  emblem,  viewed  with  kindred  eye, 
Of  tricksy,  restless  infancy? 
Ah !  many  a  lightly-sportive  child, 
Who  hath,  like  thee,  our  wits  beguiled, 
To  dull  and  sober  manhood  grown, 
With  strange  recoil  our  hearts  disown. 
Even  so,  poor  kit !  must  thou  endure, 
When  thou  becomest  a  cat  demure, 
Full  many  a  cuff  and  angry  word, 
Chid  roughly  from  the  tempting  board. 
18 


THE    CAT: 


And  yet,  for  that  thou  hast,  I  ween, 
So  oft  our  favoured  playmate  been, 
Soft  be  the  change  which  thou  shalt  prove, 
When  time  hath  spoiled  thee  of  our  love ; 
Still  be  thou  deemed,  by  housewife  fat, 
A  comely,  careful,  mousing  cat, 
Whose  dish  is,  for  the  public  good, 
Replenished  oft  with  savoury  food. 
Nor,  when  thy  span  of  life  be  past, 
Be  thou  to  pond  or  dunghill  cast; 
But  gently  borne  on  good  man's  spade, 
Beneath  the  decent  sod  be  laid, 
And  children  show  with  glistening  eyes, 
The  place  where  poor  old  Pussy  lies. 

Joanna  Baillie. 


THE    CAT 


The  Kitten 

A  kitten  is  the  joy  of  a  household.  All  day 
long  this  incomparable  actor  plays  his  little  com- 
edy, and  those  who  search  for  perpetual  motion 
can  do  no  better  than  watch  his  antics.  His  the- 
atre is  always  open,  any  room  suffices  him  for  a 
stage,  and  he  has  need  of  few  accessories.  A  scrap 
of  paper,  a  bit  of  string,  a  spool,  a  pen,  these 
are  enough  to  incite  him  to  marvellous  acrobatic 
feats.  "  Everything  that  moves,"  says  Moncrif , 
"  serves  to  interest  and  amuse  a  cat.  He  is  con- 
vinced that  nature  is  busying  herself  with  his  di- 
version; he  can  conceive  of  no  other  purpose  in 
the  universe;  and  when  we  sport  with  him,  and 
make  him  leap  and  tumble,  he  probably  takes  us 
for  pantomimists  and  buffoons." 

Even  when  a  kitten  is  quiet,  he  is  the  drollest 
of  creatures.  What  a  spice  of  innocent  malice  in 
his  half -shut  eyes!  His  head,  heavy  with  sleep, 
his  outstretched  paws,  his  air  of  ineffable  languor, 
all  tell  of  comfort  and  content.  A  little  drowsing 
cat  is  an  image  of  perfect  beatitude.  Look  at  his 
ears.  How  big  and  comical  they  are.  No  sound, 
however  faint,  escapes  them.  Look  at  his  eyes 
when  he  opens  them  wide.  How  quick  and  keen 
their   glance.     Who   is   that   knocking?     Who   is 

20 


THE    CAT: 


that  crossing  the  room?  What  is  there  good  to 
eat  in  box,  or  bundle,  or  basket?  The  ruling  pas- 
sion of  a  kitten  is  curiosity,  and  in  this  regard  he 
is  uncommonly  like  a  child.  "  When  a  cat  enters 
a  room  for  the  first  time,"  says  Rousseau  in 
"  Emile,"  "  he  prowls  into  every  corner,  he  cannot 
rest  until  he  has  made  himself  familiar  with  his 
surroundings.  So  does  a  young  child  behave  when 
he  is  beginning  to  walk  and  talk.  So  does  he  ques- 
tion the  unknown  world  he  is  entering." 

There  is  no  more  intrepid  explorer  than  a  kitten. 
He  makes  perilous  voyages  into  cellar  and  attic, 
he  scales  the  roofs  of  neighbouring  houses,  he 
thrusts  his  little  inquiring  nose  into  half -shut 
doors,  he  lays  up  for  future  use  a  store  of  useful 
observation,  he  gets  himself  into  every  kind  of 
trouble,  and  is  always  sorry  when  it  is  too  late. 
It  is  amazing  to  see  a  kitten  climb  a  tree.  Up  he 
goes  from  bough  to  bough,  higher  and  higher,  as 
though  bent  on  enjoying  the  view  from  the  top. 
He  does  not  ask  where  this  delightful  adventure  is 
taking  him.  He  pays  no  heed  to  the  diminishing 
size  of  the  branches,  and  it  is  only  when  they  sway 
beneath  his  weight  that  he  realizes  the  impossibility 
of  mounting  any  further.  Then  fear  gripes  his 
heart,  and  he  mews  appealingly  for  help.  Some- 
body must  hasten  with  a  ladder  to   his   rescue; 

21 


:THE    CAT 


and,  until  aid  comes,  he  slides  pitifully  and  peril- 
ously along  an  upper  branch,  clawing  it  with 
desperate  precautions.  His  heart,  we  know,  is 
beating  as  though  it  would  break,  his  agility  has 
deserted  him,  his  audacity  has  given  way  to  despair. 

Les  Chats,  Jules  Husson  Champfleury. 


22 


THE    CAT= 


Good  and  Bad  Kittens 

Kittens,  you  are  very  little, 

And  your  kitten  bones  are  brittle, 

If  you'd  grow  to  Cats  respected, 
See  your  play  be  not  neglected. 

Smite  the  Sudden  Spool,  and  spring 
Upon  the  Swift  Elusive  String; 

Thus  you  learn  to  catch  the  wary 
Mister  Mouse,  or  Miss  Canary. 

That  is  how,  in  Foreign  Places, 
Fluffy  Cubs  with  Kitten  faces, 

Where  the  mango  waves  sedately, 
Grow  to  Lions  large  and  stately. 

But  the  Kittencats  who  snatch 
Rudely  for  their  food,  or  scratch, 

Grow  to  Tomcats  gaunt  and  gory, 
Theirs  is  quite  another  story. 

Cats  like  these  are  put  away 
By  the  dread  S.  P.  C.  A., 

Or  to  trusting  Aunts  and  Sisters 
Sold  as  Sable  Muffs  and  Wristers. 


Oliver  Herford. 


23 


THE    CAT 


Yet  can  thy  humble  roof  maintaine  a  quire 

Of  singing  crickets  by  thy  fire; 
And  the  brisk  mouse  may  feast  herselfe  with  crumbs, 

Till  that  the  green-eyed  kitling  comes. 

Robert  Herrick. 


24 


THE   CAT= 


Dido 

We  have  got  the  prettiest  kitten  you  ever  saw, 
—  a  dark  tabby, —  and  we  have  christened  her  by 
the  heathenish  name  of  Dido.  You  would  be  very 
much  diverted  to  see  her  hunt  Herbert  all  round 
the  kitchen,  playing  with  his  little  bare  feet,  which 
she  just  pricks  at  every  pat;  and  the  faster  he 
moves  back,  the  more  she  paws  them,  at  which  he 
cries,  "  Naughty  Dido ! "  and  points  to  his  feet, 
and  says,  "  Hurt,  hurt,  naughty  Dido ! "  Pres- 
ently he  feeds  her  with  comfits,  which  Dido  plays 
with  awhile,  but  soon  returns  to  her  old  game. 

Robert  Southey  to  Lieutenant  Southey. 


25 


THE   CAT 


In  Memoriam 

Alas,  Grosvenor,  this  day  died  poor  old  Rumpel, 
after  as  long  and  happy  a  life  as  cat  could  wish 
for,  if  cats  form  wishes  on  that  subject.  His  full 
titles  were:  — 

"  The  most  Noble  the  Archduke  Rumpelstiltz- 
chen,  Marquis  Macbum,  Earl  Tomlemagne,  Baron 
Raticide,  Waowhler,  and  Skaratch." 

There  should  be  a  court  mourning  in  Catland, 
and  if  the  Dragon  *  wear  a  black  ribbon  round  his 
neck,  or  a  band  of  crape,  a  la  militaire,  on  one  of 
his  fore  legs,  it  will  be  but  a  becoming  mark  of 
respect. 

As  we  have  no  catacombs  here,  he  is  to  be  de- 
cently interred  in  the  orchard,  and  catmint  planted 
on  his  grave.  Poor  creature,  it  is  well  that  he  has 
thus  come  to  his  end,  since  he  had  grown  to  be  an 
object  of  pity.  I  believe  we  are,  each  and  all, 
servants  included,  more  sorry  for  his  loss,  or  rather 
more  affected  by  it,  than  any  one  of  us  would  like 
to  confess. 

I  should  not  have  written  to  you  at  present,  had 
it  not  been  to  notify  you  of  this  event. 

Robert  Southey  to  Grosvenor  C.  Bedford, 
i  Bedford's  cat. 


26 


THE   CAT= 


The  Strength  Which  Lies  in  Delicacy 

The  cat's  energy  is  subdued  into  an  exquisite 
moderation.  Other  animals  roughly  employ  what 
strength  they  happen  to  possess,  without  reference 
to  the  smallness  of  the  occasion;  but  the  cat  uses 
only  the  necessary  force.  One  day  I  watched  a 
kitten  playing  with  a  daffodil.  She  sat  on  her 
hind  legs,  and  patted  the  flower  with  her  paws, 
first  with  the  right  paw,  then  with  the  left,  making 
the  light  yellow  bell  sway  from  side  to  side,  yet 
not  injuring  a  petal  or  a  stamen.  She  took  de- 
light, evidently,  in  the  very  delicacy  of  the  exer- 
cise; whereas  a  dog  or  a  horse  has  no  enjoyment  of 
delicacy  in  its  own  movements,  but  acts  strongly 
when  it  is  strong,  without  calculating  whether  the 
energy  used  may  not  be  in  great  part  superfluous. 
This  proportioning  of  force  to  the  need  is  an  evi- 
dence of  refinement  in  manners  and  in  art.  If 
animals  could  speak,  the  dog  would  be  a  blunt, 
blundering,  outspoken,  honest  fellow;  but  the  cat 
would  have  the  rare  grace  of  never  saying  a  word 
too  much. 

Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton. 


M 


THE    CAT 


The  Companionable  Cat 

My  cat  in  winter  time  usually  sleeps  upon  my 
dog,  who  submits  in  patience;  and  I  have  often 
found  her  on  horseback  in  the  stable,  not  from  any 
taste  for  equestrianism,  but  simply  because  a  horse- 
cloth is  a  perpetual  warmer  when  there  is  a  living 
horse  beneath  it.  She  loves  the  dog  and  horse  with 
the  tender  regard  we  have  for  foot-warmers  and 
railway  rugs  during  a  journey  in  the  depth  of  win- 
ter ;  nor  have  I  ever  been  able  to  detect  in  her  any 
worthier  sentiment  towards  her  master.  Yet  of  all 
animals  that  we  can  have  in  a  room  with  us,  the 
cat  is  the  least  disquieting.  Her  presence  is  sooth- 
ing to  a  student,  as  the  presence  of  a  quiet  nurse 
is  soothing  to  an  invalid.  It  is  agreeable  to  feel 
that  you  are  not  absolutely  alone,  and  it  seems  to 
you,  when  you  are  at  work,  as  if  the  cat  took  care 
that  all  her  movements  should  be  noiseless,  purely 
out  of  consideration  for  your  comfort.  Then,  if 
you  have  time  to  caress  her,  you  know  that  she 
will  purr  a  response,  and  why  inquire  too  closely 
into  the  sincerity  of  her  affection? 

Philip  Gilbert  Hamerton. 


28 


THE    CAT; 


The  Kitten  and  the  Falling  Leaves 

That  way  look,  my  infant,  lo! 

What  a  pretty  baby  show ! 

See  the  kitten  on  the  wall, 

Sporting  with  the  leaves  that  fall, 

Withered  leaves, —  one  —  two  —  and  three,- 

From  the  lofty  elder-tree ! 

Through  the  calm  and  frosty  air 

Of  this  morning  bright  and  fair 

Eddying  round  and  round  they  sink, 

Softly,  slowly:  one  might  think, 

From  the  motions  that  are  made, 

Every  little  leaf  convey'd 

Sylph  or  fairy  hither  tending, — 

To  this  lower  world  descending, 

Each  invisible  and  mute, 

In  his  wavering  parachute. 

But  the  kitten,  how  she  starts, 
Crouches,  stretches,  paws,  and  darts! 
First  at  one,  and  then  its  fellow, 
Just  as  light  and  just  as  yellow; 
There  are  many  now, —  now  one, — 
Now  they  stop,  and  there  are  none. 
What  intenseness  of  desire 
In  her  upward  eye  of  fire! 
With  a  tiger-leap  half  way 
Now  she  meets  the  coming  prey, 
Lets  it  go  as  fast,  and  then 
29 


THE   CAT 


Has  it  in  her  power  again; 

Now  she  works  with  three  or  four, 

Like  an  Indian  conjuror; 

Quick  as  he  in  feats  of  art, 

Far  beyond  in  joy  of  heart. 

Were  her  antics  play'd  in  the  eye 

Of  a  thousand  standers-by, 

Clapping  hands  with  shout  and  stare, 

What  would  little  Tabby  care 

For  the  plaudits  of  the  crowd  ? 

Over  happy  to  be  proud, 

Over  wealthy  in  the  treasure 

Of  her  own  exceeding  pleasure ! 

William  Wordsworth. 


30 


THE    CAT 


Pussy-Willows 

I  sometimes  think  the  Pussy- Willows  grey 
Are  Angel  Kittens  who  have  lost  their  way, 

And  every  Bulrush  on  the  river  bank 
A  Cat-Tail  from  some  lovely  Cat  astray. 

Sometimes  I  think  perchance  that  Allah  may, 
When  he  created  Cats,  have  thrown  away 

The  Tails  he  marred  in  making,  and  they  grew 
To  Cat-Tails  and  to  Pussy- Willows  grey. 

Oliver  Herford. 


31 


THE    CAT 


The  London  Cat 

On  summer  mornings  from  four  a.  m.  to  five, 
London  ceases  to  belong  to  the  world  of  men,  and 
is  given  over  to  birds  and  cats.  At  this  really  be- 
witching hour,  for  the  city  then  is  beautiful,  the 
cats  may  be  seen,  as  at  no  other  time,  rerum  domini, 
masters  of  the  town.  It  is  not  for  nothing  that 
the  race  has  for  generations  maintained  its  inde- 
pendence, and  asserted  its  right  to  roam.  For  at 
that  hour  all  the  dogs  are  shut  up,  all  the  boys 
and  grown  people  are  asleep.  The  city  is  theirs. 
The  demeanour  of  London  cats  at  four  a.  m.  is  one 
of  assured  freedom.  They  stroll  about  the  streets 
and  gardens  with  a  quiet  air  of  possession.  They 
converse  in  the  centre  of  highways.  They  walk 
with  feline  abandon  and  momentary  magnificence 
over  open  squares.  In  the  silver  grey  of  a  London 
dawn  they  are  no  longer  domestic  pets,  they  are 
gentlemen  at  large. 

The  Spectator. 


THE    CAT= 


Practice 

Cultivate  your  garden,  said  Goethe  and  Voltaire, 
Every  other  task  is  wasted  and  dead-born; 
Narrow  all  your  efforts  to  a  given  sphere, 
Seek  your  Heaven  daily  in  a  bit  of  ground. 

So  my  cat  behaves.     Like  a  veteran, 

He  brushes  well  his  coat  before  he  sits  to  dine; 

All  his  work  is  centred  in  his  own  domain, 

Just  to  keep  his  spotless  fur  soft,  and  clean,  and  fine. 

His  tongue  is  sponge,  and  brush,  and  towel,  and  curry- 
comb, 
Well  he  knows  what  work  it  can  be  made  to  do, 
Poor  little  wash-rag,  smaller  than  my  thumb. 

His  nose  touches  his  back,  touches  his  hind  paws  too, 
Every    patch    of    fur    is    raked,    and    scraped,    and 

smoothed ; 
What  more  has  Goethe  done,  what  more  could  Voltaire 

do? 

From  the  French  of  Hippolyte  Taine. 


:THE    CAT 


Auld  Bawthren's  Song 

The  gudewife  birrs  wi'  the  wheel  a*  day, 

Three  threeds  an'  a  thrum; 
A  walth  o'  wark,  an*  sma'  time  for  play, 
Wi'  the  lint  sae  white  and  worset  grey 
Work  hard  she  maun,  while  sing  I  may, 

Three  threeds  an*  a  thrum. 

The  gudewife  rises  frae  out  her  bed, 
Wi*  her  cozy  nicht-mutch  round  her  head, 
To  steer  the  fire  to  a  blaze  sae  red, 
An'  her  feet  I  rub  wi'  welcome  glad. 

I  daunder  round  her  wi'  blythesome  birr, 
An*  rub  on  her  legs  my  sleek  warm  fur; 
Wi'  sweeps  o'  my  tail  I  welcome  her, 
An'  round  her  rin,  wherever  she  stir. 

The  men-folk's  time  for  rest  is  sma', 
They're  out  in  the  sunshine,  an*  out  in  the  snaw, 
Tho'  cauld  winds  whistle,  or  rain  should  fa', 
I,  in  the  ingle,  dae  nought  ava\ 

I  like  the  gudeman,  but  loe  the  wife, 
Days  mony  they've  seen  o'  leil  and  strife; 
O'  sorrow  human  hours  are  rife; 
Their  haud's  been  mine  a'  the  days  o'  my  life. 


THE    CAT 


Auld  Bawthren  grey,  she  kitten'd  me  here, 
An*  wha  was  my  sire  I  didna  spier; 
Brithers  an'  sisters  smoor'd  i'  the  weir, 
Left  me  alane  to  my  mither  dear. 

As  I  grew  a  cat  wi'  look  sae  douce, 
She  taught  me  to  catch  the  pilf 'rin  mouse ; 
Wi'  the  thievish  rottons  I  had  nae  truce, 
But  banished  them  a'  frae  the  maister's  house. 

Mither  got  fushionless,  auld,  an'  blin, 
The  bluid  in  her  veins  was  cauld  an*  thin, 
Her  claws  were  blunt,  an'  she  couldna  rin, 
An'  t*  her  forbears  was  sune  gathered  in. 

Now  I  sit  hurklin'  aye  in  the  ase, 

The  queen  I  am  o'  that  cozy  place; 

As  wi'  ilka  paw  I  dicht  my  face, 

I  sing  an*  purr  wi*  mickle  grace, 

Three  threeds  an*  a  thrum, 
Three  threeds  an*  a  thrum. 

Anonymous. 


35 


THE    CAT 


To  my  Lord  Buckhurst,  Very  Young,  Play- 
ing with  a  Cat 

The  am'rous  youth,  whose  tender  breast 
Was  by  his  darling  cat  possest, 
Obtain'd  of  Venus  his  desire, 
Howe'er  irregular  his  fire. 
Nature  the  power  of  love  obey'd, — 
The  cat  became  a  blushing  maid; 
And,  on  the  happy  change,  the  boy 
Employ 'd  his  wonder  and  his  joy. 
Take  care,  O  beauteous  child,  take  care, 
Lest  thou  prefer  so  rash  a  pray'r: 
Nor  vainly  hope  the  Queen  of  Love 
Will  e'er  thy  fav'rite's  charms  improve. 
Oh,  quickly  from  her  shrine  retreat, 
Or  tremble  for  thy  darling's  fate. 
The  Queen  of  Love,  who  soon  will  see 
Her  own  Adonis  live  in  thee, 
Will  lightly  her  first  loss  deplore, 
Will  easily  forgive  the  boar. 
Her  eyes  with  tears  no  more  will  flow, 
With  jealous  rage  her  breast  will  glow, 
And  on  her  tabby  rival's  face 
She  deep  will  mark  her  new  disgrace. 

Matthew  Prior. 


36 


THE    CAT= 


A  Cat 

Philosopher  and  comrade,  not  for  thee 

The  fond  and  foolish  love  which  binds  the  dog; 

Only  a  quiet  sympathy  which  sees 

Through  all  my  faults,  and  bears  with  them  awhile. 

Be  lenient  still,  and  have  some  faith  in  me, 

Gentlest  of  sceptics,  sleepiest  of  friends. 

Jules  Lemaitre  to  his  Cat 


37 


favour 
it/ in  atat 


<£a  &chtaine 


THE    CAT: 


To  a  Cat  which  had  Killed  a  Bird 

O  cat  in  semblance,  but  in  heart  akin 
To  canine  raveners,  whose  ways  are  sin , 
Still  at  my  hearth  a  guest  thou  dar'st  to  be  ? 
Unwhipt  of  Justice,  hast  no  dread  of  me? 
Or  deem'st  the  sly  allurements  shall  avail 
Of  purring  throat  and  undulating  tail? 
No !  as  to  pacify  Patroclus  dead, 
Twelve  Trojans  by  P  elides'  sentence  bled, 
So  shall  thy  blood  appease  the  feathery  shade, 
And  for  one  guiltless  life  shall  nine  be  paid. 

Agathias,  Translation  of  Richard  Garnett 


41 


THE    CAT 


On  a  Cat,  Killed  as  she  was  Robbing  a 
Dove-Cote 

Poor  Puss  is  gone !  —  'tis  Fate's  decree, 

Yet  I  must  still  her  loss  deplore ; 
For  dearer  than  a  child  was  she, 

And  ne'er  shall  I  behold  her  more. 

With  many  a  sad,  presaging  tear, 

This  morn  I  saw  her  steal  away, 
While  she  slipped  off  without  a  fear, 

Except  that  she  should  miss  her  prey. 

I  saw  her  to  the  dove-house  climb, 
With  cautious  feet  and  slow  she  stept, 

Resolved  to  balance  loss  of  time 
By  eating  faster  than  she  crept. 

Her  subtle  foes  were  on  the  watch, 

And  marked  her  course,  with  fury  fraught; 

And  while  she  hoped  the  birds  to  catch, 
An  arrow's  point  the  huntress  caught. 

In  fancy  she  had  slain  them  all, 

And  drunk  their  blood  and  sucked  their  breath; 
Alas !  she  only  got  a  fall, 

And  only  drank  the  draught  of  death. 


42 


THE    CAT: 


Why,  why  was  pigeon's  flesh  so  nice, 

That  thoughtless  cats  should  love  it  thus? 

Hadst  thou  but  lived  on  rats  and  mice, 
Thou  hadst  been  living  still,  poor  Puss ! 

Cursed  be  the  taste,  howe'er  refined, 
That  prompts  us  for  such  joys  to  wish; 

And  cursed  the  dainty,  where  we  find 
Destruction  lurking  in  the  dish. 

From  the  Arabic  in  Ibn  Alalap  Alnaharwany. 


43 


=THE    CAT 


The  Witch  Cat 

Innumerable  legends  cluster  around  the  cat 
during  the  picturesque  centuries  of  superstition, 
when  men  were  poor  in  letters,  but  rich  in  vivid 
imaginings;  when  they  were  densely  ignorant,  but 
never  dull.  Even  after  the  Dark  Ages  had  grown 
light,  there  was  no  lifting  of  the  gloom  which 
enveloped  Pussy's  pathway,  there  was  no  visible 
softening  of  her  lot.  The  stories  told  of  her  imp- 
ish wickedness  have  the  same  general  character 
throughout  Europe.  We  meet  them  with  modest 
variations  in  France,  Germany,  Sweden,  Den- 
mark, England,  Scotland  and  Wales.  It  was  a 
belated  woodcutter  of  Brittany  who  saw  with  hor- 
ror-stricken eyes  thirteen  cats  dancing  in  sacri- 
legious glee  around  a  wayside  crucifix.  One  he 
killed  with  his  axe,  and  the  other  twelve  disappeared 
in  a  trice.  It  was  a  charcoal-burner  in  the  Black 
Forest  who,  hearing  strange  noises  near  his  kiln  at 
night,  arose  from  bed,  and  stepped  into  the  clear- 
ing. Before  him,  motionless  in  the  moonlight,  sat 
three  cats.  He  stooped  to  pick  up  a  stone,  and 
the  relic  of  Saint  Gildas  he  carried  in  his  bosom 
fell  from  its  snapt  string  upon  the  ground.  Im- 
mediately his  arm  hung  helpless,  and  he  could  not 
touch  the  stone.  Then  one  of  the  cats  said  to  its 
companions :     "  For  the  sake  of  his  wife,  who  is 

44 


THE   CAT= 


my  gossip,  sisters,  let  him  go ! "  and  the  next 
morning  he  was  found  lying  unconscious,  but  un- 
harmed, across  the  forest  road. 

From  Scandinavia,  where  the  fair  white  cats  of 
Freija  were  once  as  honoured  as  were  Odin's  ravens 
and  Thor's  goats,  comes  the  tale  of  the  haunted 
mill,  in  which  dreadful  revelry  was  heard  at  night, 
and  which  had  been  twice  burned  to  the  ground  on 
Whitsun  Eve.  The  third  year,  a  travelling  tailor, 
pious  and  brave,  offered  to  keep  watch.  He 
chalked  a  circle  on  the  floor,  wrote  the  Lord's 
prayer  around  it,  and  waited  with  patience  until 
midnight.  Then  a  troop  of  cats  crept  stealthily 
in,  carrying  a  great  pot  of  pitch  which  they  hung 
in  the  fireplace,  lighting  the  logs  beneath  it.  Soon 
the  pitch  bubbled  and  seethed,  and  the  cats,  swing- 
ing the  pot,  tried  to  overturn  it.  The  tailor  drove 
them  away;  and  when  one,  who  seemed  to  be  the 
leader,  sought  to  pull  him  gently  outside  the  magic 
circle,  he  cut  off  its  paw  with  his  knife.  Upon  this, 
they  all  fled  howling  into  the  night;  and  the  next 
morning  the  miller  saw  with  joy  his  mill  standing 
unharmed,  and  the  great  wheel  turning  merrily  in 
the  water.  But  the  miller's  wife  was  ill  in  bed; 
and,  when  the  tailor  bade  her  good-bye,  she  gave 
him  her  left  hand,  hiding  beneath  the  bedclothes 
the  right  arm's  bleeding  stump. 

45 


THE    CAT 


There  is  also  a  Scandinavian  version  of  the  ever 
famous  story  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  told  to  Wash- 
ington Irving,  which  "  Monk  "  Lewis  told  to  Shel- 
ley, and  which,  in  one  form  or  another,  we  find 
embodied  in  the  folk-lore  of  every  land, —  the  story 
of  the  traveller  who  saw  within  a  ruined  abbey  a 
procession  of  cats,  lowering  into  its  grave  a  little 
coffin  with  a  crown  upon  it.  Filled  with  horror,  he 
hastened  from  the  spot;  but  when  he  reached  his 
destination,  he  could  not  forbear  relating  to  a 
friend  the  wonder  he  had  seen.  Scarcely  had  the 
tale  been  told,  when  his  friend's  cat,  who  lay  curled 
up  tranquilly  by  the  fire,  sprang  to  his  feet,  cried 
out,  "  Then  I  am  the  King  of  the  Cats ! "  and  dis- 
appeared in  a  flash  up  the  chimney. 

The  Fireside  Sphinx,  Agnes  Repplieb. 


46 


THE    CAT= 


Anathema  Maranatha 

That  vengeaunce  I  aske  and  crye, 
By  way  of  exclamacyon, 
On  all  the  whole  nacyon 
Of  cattes  wylde  and  tame; 
God  send  them  sorowe  and  shame! 
That  cat  especyally 
That  slew  so  cruelly 
My  lytell  pretty  sparowe, 
That  I  brought  up  at  Carowe. 
O  cat  of  churlyshe  kynde, 
The  Fynde  was  in  thy  minde 
When  thou  my  byrde  untwynde! 
I  would  thou  haddest  ben  blynde ! 
The  leopardes  savage, 
The  lyons  in  theyr  rage, 
Myght  catche  thee  in  theyr  pawes ! 
And  gnawe  thee  in  theyr  jawes! 
The  serpentes  of  Lybany 
Myght  stynge  thee  venymously! 
The  dragones  with  theyr  tonges 
Myght  poyson  thy  lyver  and  longes ! 
The  mantycors  of  the  montaynes 
Myght  f ede  them  on  thy  braynes ! 
Melanchates,  that  hounde 
That  plucked  Actaeon  to  the  grounde, 
Gave  hym  his  mortall  wounde, 

47 


THE    CAT 


Chaunged  to  a  dere, 
The  story  doth  appere, 
Was  chaunged  to  an  harte: 
So  thou,  f  oule  eat  that  thou  arte, 
The  selfesame  hounde 
Myght  thee  confounde, 
That  his  owne  lord  bote, 
Myght  byte  asondre  thy  throte ! 

Of  Inde  the  gredy  grypes 
Myght  tere  out  all  thy  trypes ! 
Of  Arcady  the  beares 
Myght  plucke  awaye  thyne  eares ! 
The  wylde  wolfe  Lycaon 
Byte  asondre  thy  backe  bone ! 
Of  Ethna  the  brennynge  hyll, 
That  day  and  nyghte  brenneth  styl, 
Set  in  thy  tayle  a  blase, 
That  all  the  world  may  gase 
And  wonder  upon  thee ! 
From  Ocyan  the  greate  sea 
Unto  the  Isles  of  Orchady; 
From  Tyllbery  ferry 
To  the  playne  of  Salysbery! 
So  trayterously  my  byrde  to  kyll, 
That  never  wrought  thee  evyll  wyll! 

The  BoJee  of  Phylyp  Sparowe,  John  Skelton. 


48 


THE    CAT: 


False  Gods 

Now  shall  ye  see  in  Babylon  gods  of  silver,  and 

of  gold,  and  of  wood Their  faces  are  blacked 

thorow  the  smoke  that  comes  out  of  the  temple.  Upon 
their  bodies  and  heads  sit  battes,  swallowes,  and  birds, 
and  the  cats  also.  By  this  you  may  know  that  they 
are  no  gods ;  therefore  fear  them  not. 

Baruch,  Apocrypha. 


49 


=THE    CAT 


Ailurophobia 

My  research  brought  to  me  indisputable  evi- 
dence concerning  the  large  number  of  people  in 
whom  the  presence  of  a  cat  gives  rise  to  a  variety 
of  symptoms.  In  such  persons,  the  feeling  caused 
by  seeing  a  cat  is  instantaneous.  In  the  asthma 
victims,  it  is  slower  and  cumulative,  and  may  not 
be  felt  at  all  for  twenty  minutes  or  more.  Certain 
persons,  on  seeing  a  cat,  have  other  symptoms,  with 
or  without  oppression  of  breathing.  There  may 
be  only  fear,  terror,  disgust.  There  may  be  added 
chilly  sensations,  horripilation,  weakness,  locked 
jaw,  or,  as  in  one  case,  fixed  open  jaw,  rigidity 
of  arms,  pallor,  nausea,  rarely  vomiting,  pro- 
nounced hysterical  convulsions,  and  even  tempo- 
rary blindness.  These  pass  away  with  removal  of 
the  cat,  but  in  a  few  examples  leave  the  sufferer 
nervously  disturbed  for  a  day.  Two  report  them- 
selves as  apt  to  have  dreams  of  cats,  what  one  of 
them  calls  "  cat  mares." 

Five  persons,  three  being  women,  are  alarmed  in 
the  presence  of  the  greater  cats,  caged  tigers  or 
lions.  A  soldier  of  distinction,  much  given  when 
younger  to  tiger  hunting,  is  undisturbed  by  these 
great  felines,  but  terrified  by  the  tame  cat. 


50 


THE    CAT= 


On  a  study  of  those  who,  at  sight  of  cats,  have 
fear,  horror,  and,  in  varying  degrees,  emotional  dis- 
turbances and  distinct  physical  symptoms,  and 
those  whom  unseen  cats  affect,  we  observe  that  the 
same  symptomatic  expressions  attend  both  groups. 

In  the  first  set,  sight  of  the  cat  informs.  Then 
there  are  fear,  horror,  disgust,  and  more  or  less  of 
the  nervous  symptoms  already  described.  In  the 
second  set,  those  who  are  conscious  of  unseen  cats, 
some  sense,  other  than  sight  or  hearing,  gives  the 
information,  and  then  the  symptoms  are  much  the 
same  as  when  the  cat  is  seen. 

S.  Weir  Mitchell,  M.D. 


51 


=T.HE    CAT 


Antipathy 

Mathiolus  tells  us  of  a  German  who,  coming  in 
winter  time  into  an  inn  to  sup  with  him  and  some 
other  of  his  friends,  the  woman  of  the  house,  being 
acquainted  with  his  temper  (lest  he  should  depart 
at  sight  of  a  young  cat  which  she  kept  to  breed 
up),  had  beforehand  hid  her  kitling  in  a  chest,  in 
the  room  where  the  company  sat  at  supper.  But 
though  the  German  had  neither  seen  nor  heard  the 
little  animal,  yet  after  some  time  that  he  had  sucked 
in  the  air  infected  by  its  breath,  that  quality  of 
his  temperament  which  had  antipathy  unto  cats 
became  sorely  disturbed.  He  began  to  sweat,  and 
of  a  sudden  to  grow  pale;  and,  to  the  wonder  of 
all  who  were  present,  he  cried  out  in  an  anguished 
voice  that  in  some  corner  of  the  room  there  was  a 
cat  lay  hid. 

Wonders  of  the  Little  World,  1678, 
Nathaniel  Wanley. 


52 


THE    CA^ 


A  Martyr 

In  the  Reigne  of  Queene  Mary  (at  which  time 
Popery  was  much  exalted),  then  were  the  Round- 
heads —  i.  e.,  the  monks  and  friars  —  so  odious 
to  the  people,  that,  in  derision  of  them,  was  a  Cat 
taken  on  a  Sabbath  day,  with  her  head  shorne  as 
a  Fryer's,  and  the  likenesse  of  a  vestment  cast  over 
her,  with  her  feet  tied  together,  and  a  round  piece 
of  paper  like  a  singing  Cake  between  them;  and 
thus  was  she  hanged  on  a  gallows  in  Cheapside, 
neere  to  the  Crosse,  in  the  parish  of  Saint  Mathew. 
Which  Cat,  being  taken  down,  was  carried  to  the 
Bishop  of  London,  and  by  him  sent  to  Doctor  Pen- 
dleton (who  was  then  preaching  at  Paul's  Cross), 
commanding  it  to  be  shown  to  the  Congregation. 
The  Round-head  Fryers  cannot  abide  to  heare  of 
this  Cat. 

Twenty  Lookes  over  all  the  Round-heads 
m  the  World,  1643. 


53 


-THE    CAT 


The  Old  Cat  and  the  Young  Mouse 

A  young  Mouse,  small  and  innocent, 

Implored  an  old  Cat's  clemency: 

"  Raminagrobis,  let  me  live ! 

Your  royal  mercy,  monarch,  give ! 

A  Mouse  so  little,  sir,  as  I 

A  tiny  meal  can  ill  supply. 

How  could  I  starve  a  family? 

Host,  hostess,  only  look  at  me. 

I  fatten  on  a  grain  of  wheat, — 

A  mite  my  dinner  makes  complete; 

I'm  thin,  too,  now, —  just  wait  a  bit, 

And  for  your  children  I'll  be  fit." 

Thus  spoke  the  little  Mouse,  aggrieved; 

The  old  Cat  answered :     "  You're  deceived. 

Go,  tell  the  deaf  and  dumb, —  not  me, 

Cats  never  pardon,  so  you'll  see. 

The  law  condemns,  and  you  must  die; 

Descend,  and  tell  the  Fates  that  I 

Have  stopped  your  preaching,  and  be  sure 

My  children's  meals  will  be  no  fewer." 

JFIe  kept  his  word;  and  to  my  fable 

I  add  a  moral,  as  I'm  able: 

Youth  hopes  to  win  all  by  address; 

But  age  is  ever  pitiless. 

Jean  de  La  Fontaine. 
54 


THE    CAT= 


A  Cat's  Conscience 

A  dog  will  often  steal  a  bone, 
But  conscience  lets  him  not  alone, 
And  by  his  tail  his  guilt  is  known. 

But  cats  consider  theft  a  game, 
And,  howsoever  you  may  blame, 
Refuse  the  slightest  sign  of  shame. 

When  food  mysteriously  goes, 
The  chances  are  that  Pussy  knows 
More  than  she  leads  you  to  suppose. 

And  hence  there  is  no  need  for  you, 
If  Puss  declines  a  meal  or  two, 
To  feel  her  pulse  and  make  ado. 


Anonymous. 


55 


THE   CAT 


Punchinello  and  the  Cat 

Punchinello  lay  on  the  floor  in  a  corner  of 
the  nursery.  His  little  master  had  gone  to  school, 
and  deserted  him. 

The  cat  slipped  in  through  a  half-open  door. 
She  held  in  her  mouth  a  ball  of  cotton  which  she  had 
carried  carefully  upstairs,  but  which  she  dropped 
as  soon  as  she  caught  sight  of  Punchinello. 
"  What  is  that  ?  "  she  asked  herself  uneasily,  and 
proceeded  to  make  a  stealthy  tour  of  the  room, 
feigning  indifference,  but  creeping  ever  closer  and 
closer  to  the  fantastic  little  figure  on  the  floor.  He 
lay  quiet,  but  she  was  none  the  less  suspicious  of 
his  intentions.  Crouching  and  quivering,  she 
glared  at  him  through  half-shut  eyes,  as  though 
seeking  to  measure  his  strength  before  challenging 
him  with  the  war-cry  of  her  race. 

—  Ffff! 

Punchinello,  wholly  unconcerned,  never  so  much 
as  winked. 

A  second  and  a  louder  challenge. 

—  Fffffffff! 
Punchinello  dozed  tranquilly. 

Then  from  the  cat's  little  body  came  a  sound, 
deep  and  terrible,  like  the  rumbling  of  far-off 
thunder. 

56 


THE    CAT 


—  Rrrrrrrrr ! 

There  was  no  response.  The  cat's  back  rose 
into  a  miniature  mountain,  her  fur  bristled,  all  the 
grace  and  beauty  which  are  born  of  a  tranquil  soul 
deserted  her.  She  curveted  sideways  as  though 
meditating  an  attack,  and  then  sank  slowly  on  the 
floor  in  the  superb  attitude  of  an  Egyptian  sphinx. 
Only  her  gleaming  eyes  and  twitching  tail  betrayed 
the  tumult  of  her  soul.  Like  a  diplomatist  who, 
in  his  library,  studies  a  map  of  Europe  and  plans 
the  destruction  of  an  empire,  so  the  cat  concealed 
her  murderous  designs  until  the  time  was  ripe  for 
action.  She  even  seemed  disposed  to  abandon  the 
game  of  war,  and  leave  her  defenceless  enemy  at 
peace ;  but  this  was  pure  hypocrisy.  Another  mo- 
ment, and  she  had  leaped  upon  Punchinello,  bury- 
ing her  claws  in  his  breast,  and  rending  into  shreds 
his  rich  embroidered  coat.  Well  she  knew  that  his 
master  was  at  school,  and,  heedless  of  all  the  care 
that  had  been  lavished  upon  her  education,  she 
forgot  that  she  was  a  domestic  cat,  and  became  a 
beast  of  prey. 

Poor  Punchinello!  Of  what  avail  now  was  his 
drum,  or  the  stick  with  which  he  had  dealt  so  many 
merry  blows  ?  The  cat  dragged  him  over  the  floor, 
flung  him  hither  and  thither,  clawed  off  his  wig 
(unspeakable  indignity!),  lacerated  him  with  her 
57 


<THE    CAT 


sharp  claws,  and  tossed  him  high  into  the  air. 
Then,  as  his  body  fell  limply  to  the  ground,  she 
sat  down  upon  him,  quietly  and  gravely,  less  like 
a  conqueror  than  like  a  judge  who  has  sentenced  a 
criminal,  and  who  is  unvexed  by  the  dissenting 
opinions  of  the  vulgar.  Her  fury  subsided  into 
calm,  her  green  eyes  opened  unblinkingly  upon  the 
sun,  she  assumed  once  more  her  sphinx-like  attitude, 
her  air  of  impenetrable  mystery. 

After  a  few  minutes  spent  in  profound  contem- 
plation, the  cat  arose,  stretched  herself,  and  coldly 
and  silently  departed. 

Jules  Husson  Champfleury. 


58 


THE    CAT; 


Le  Chat  Noir 

Half  loving-kindliness,  and  half  disdain, 

Thou  comest  to  my  call,  serenely  suave, 

With  humming  speech  and  gracious  gesture  grave, 

In  salutation  courtly  and  urbane. 

Yet  must  I  humble  me  thy  grace  to  gain, 

For  wiles  may  win  thee,  but  no  arts  enslave, 

And  nowhere  gladly  thou  abidest,  save 

Where  naught  disturbs  the  concord  of  thy  reign. 

Sphinx  of  my  quiet  hearth !  who  deignst  to  dwell 
Friend  of  my  toil,  companion  of  mine  ease, 
Thine  is  the  lore  of  Ra  and  Rameses; 
That  men  forget  dost  thou  remember  well, 
Beholden  still  in  blinking  reveries, 
With  sombre,  sea-green  gaze  inscrutable. 

Graham  Tomson. 


61 


=THE    CAT 


The  Cat's  Progress 

Outlawed  for  centuries,  driven  ruthlessly  from 
hearth  and  home,  then  tolerated  merely  as  a  useful 
chattel,  the  cat  has  gradually  insinuated  herself 
into  polite  society.  She  has  made  herself  at  home 
in  library  and  drawing-room,  she  has  reserved  for 
occasional  use  kitchen,  dining-room  and  office. 
She  may  be  seen  drowsing  for  hours  on  the  bed,  she 
takes  exclusive  possession  of  the  most  comfortable 
armchair,  she  curls  herself  at  will  on  her  master's 
knee,  and,  when  the  frost  deepens,  she  always 
monopolizes  the  warmest  corner  by  the  fire. 

This  is  the  progress,  and  these  are  the  admitted 
triumphs  of  the  cat.  She  has  conquered  and  do- 
mesticated man,  reduced  him  to  the  role  of  an 
obedient  servant,  and  required  of  him  that  he  shall 
provide  her  with  the  luxuries  she  loves.  In  doing 
this,  he  but  performs  his  duty,  and  need  expect  no 
gratitude.  The  loud  declarations  of  naturalists 
count  for  little  by  the  side  of  such  a  candid  con- 
fession as  that  of  M.  de  Cherville,  who  tells  us  in 
one  of  his  charming  essays  that  for  two  years  he 
has  obsequiously  served  a  little  cat,  born  under  his 
roof,  and  raised  by  his  careful  hands.  For  two 
years  he  has  studied  her  tastes,  and  shown  her  every 
attention  in  his  power;  and  never  in  all  this  time 

62 


THE    CAT= 


has  he  won  from  her  the  smallest  token  of  regard. 
Never  has  she  vouchsafed  him  a  caress  by  way  of 
thanks,  nor  consented  to  go  to  him,  when  called 
with  loving  words  and  tender  cajoleries. 

Here  is  a  picture  painted  with  sincerity,  and  in 
unvarnished  colours.  No  devotion  on  our  part  can 
soften  these  little  tyrants  whom  we  never  dream  of 
resisting,  and  who  end  by  triumphing  even  over  the 
dog,  their  ancient  and  hereditary  foe.  Alas,  poor 
dog!  He  is  the  perfect  friend  of  man,  the  slave 
of  our  caprices,  "  mechanically  faithful,"  to  use  an 
admirable  phrase  of  Mme.  de  Custine,  and,  through 
no  fault  of  his  own,  condemned  to  love  us.  Now 
he  sees  himself  dispossessed,  not  only  of  our  ex- 
clusive favour,  but  of  his  accustomed  place  in  our 
chimney  corner.  Hardly  has  he  stretched  himself 
on  the  rug  before  the  fire,  when  the  cat,  apparently 
on  the  best  of  terms  with  her  old  adversary,  ap- 
proaches silently  and  softly,  like  a  skilled  strate- 
gist, and  seats  herself  by  his  side,  as  close  as  she 
can  very  well  get  to  him.  This  done,  she  proceeds 
to  roll  herself  into  a  ball,  then  rises  and  stretches 
her  limbs,  then  turns  round  and  round,  so  as  to 
toast  every  part  of  her  little  body,  always  contriv- 
ing to  disturb  the  dog,  and  compel  him  to  insensibly 
give  place.  The  poor  beast  tucks  his  tail  out  of 
sight,  then  his  paws  and  his  nose ;  but  finding  him- 

63 


THE    CAT 


self  still  in  the  cat's  way,  and  not  knowing  how  to 
resist  such  subtle  encroachments,  he  finally  makes 
up  his  mind  to  leave  the  warm  fire,  and  take  refuge 
in  some  chillier  corner  of  the  room  where  he  may 
sleep  in  peace. 

Un  Peintre  de  Chats,  Heney  Havard. 


64 


THE    CAT: 


Arsinoe's  Cats 

Arsinoe  the  fair,  the  amber-tressed, 

Is  mine  no  more; 
Cold  as  the  unsunned  snows  are  is  her  breast, 

And  closed  her  door. 
No  more  her  ivory  feet  and  tresses  braided 

Make  glad  mine  eyes; 
Snapt  are  my  viol  strings,  my  flowers  are  faded, 

My  love-lamp  dies. 

Yet,  once,  for  dewy  myrtle-buds  and  roses, 

All  summer  long, 
We  searched  the  twilight-haunted  garden  closes 

With  jest  and  song. 
Ay,  all  is  over  now, —  my  heart  hath  changed 

Its  heaven  for  hell; 
And  that  ill  chance  which  all  our  love  estranged 

In  this  wise  fell : 

A  little  lion,  small  and  dainty  sweet, 

(For  such  there  be!) 
With  sea-grey  eyes  and  softly  stepping  feet, 

She  prayed  of  me. 
For  this,  through  lands  Egyptian  far  away, 

She  bade  me  pass: 
But,  in  an  evil  hour,  I  said  her  nay, 

And  now,  alas ! 
65 


=THE    CAT 


Far-travelled  Nicias  hath  wooed  and  won 

Arsinoe, 
With  gifts  of  furry  creatures,  white  and  dun, 

From  over  sea. 

Graham  Tomson. 


66 


THE    CAT 


Free,  and  proud,  and  glad  as  they, 

Here  to-day- 
Rests  or  roams  their  radiant  child, 
Vanquished  not,  but  reconciled; 
Free  from  curb  of  aught  above 
Save  the  lovely  curb  of  love. 

Love,  through  dreams  of  souls  divine, 

Fain  would  shine 
Round  a  dawn  whose  light  and  song 
Then  should  right  our  mutual  wrong, — 
Speak,  and  seal  the  love-lit  law, 
Sweet  Assisi's  seer  foresaw. 

Dreams  were  theirs;  yet  haply  may 

Dawn  a  day 
When  such  friends  and  fellows  born, 
Seeing  our  earth  as  fair  at  morn, 
May,  for  wiser  love's  sake,  see 
More  of  heaven's  deep  heart  than  we. 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne. 


69 


THE    CAT, 


Postscript  to  a  Rondeau,  Addressed  by 
Mme.  la  Duchesse  du  Maine  to  her 
Favourite  Cat 

My  pretty  Puss,  my  solace  and  delight, 

To  celebrate  thy  loveliness  aright 

I  ought  to  call  to  life  the  bard  who  sung 

Of  Lesbia's  sparrow  with  so  sweet  a  tongue; 

But  'tis  in  vain  to  summon  here  to  me 

So  famous  a  dead  personage  as  he, 

And  you  must  take  contentedly  to-day 

This  poor  rondeau  that  Cupid  wafts  your  way. 

Translated  by  Edmund  Gosse. 


70 


THE   CAT; 


Epitaph  on  the  Favourite  Cat  of  Mme.  la 
Duchesse  du  Maine 

Puss  passer-by,  within  this  simple  tomb 

Lies  one  whose  life  fell  Atropos  hath  shred; 
The  happiest  cat  on  earth  hath  heard  his  doom, 

And  sleeps  forever  in  a  marble  bed. 
Alas!  what  long  delicious  days  I've  seen! 

O  cats  of  Egypt,  my  illustrious  sires, 
You  who  on  altars,  bound  with  garlands  green, 

Have  melted  hearts  and  kindled  fond  desires, 
Hymns  in  your  praise  were  paid,  and  offerings  too; 

But  I'm  not  jealous  of  those  rites  divine; 
Since  Ludovisa  loved  me,  fond  and  true, 

Your  ancient  glory  was  less  proud  than  mine. 
To  live,  a  simple  pussy,  by  her  side, 

Was  nobler  far  than  to  be  deified. 

Translated  from  the  French  of  La  Mothe  le  Vayer 
by  Edmund  Gosse. 


71 


=THE    CAT 


The  Cat's  Coronach 

And  art  thou  fallen,  and  lowly  laid, 
The  housewife's  boast,  the  cellar's  aid, 

Great  mouser  of  thy  day ! 
Whose  rolling  eyes  and  aspect  dread 
Whole  whiskered  legions  oft  have  fled 

In  midnight  battle  fray. 
There  breathes  no  kitten  of  thy  line 
But  would  have  given  his  life  for  thine. 

Oh,  could  I  match  the  peerless  strain 
That  wailed  for  black  Sir  Roderic  slain, 

Or  that,  whose  milder  tone, 
O'er  Gertrude,  f all'n  in  beauty's  prime, 
The  grace  of  Pennsylvania's  clime, 

Raised  the  sepulchral  moan; 
Such  strain  might  burst  th'  eternal  bar, 
And  reach  thy  spirit  from  afar. 

But  thou,  remote  from  pain  and  strife, 
Now  reap'st  the  meed  of  virtuous  life 

In  some  Elysian  grove, 
Where  endless  streams  of  milk  abound, 
And  soft  valerian  paints  the  ground 

Thy  joyous  footsteps  rove; 
With  Tasso's  cat  by  poems  named, 
And  Whittington's,  in  story  famed, 

Requies  cat  in  pace.  Anonymous. 

72 


THE   CAT= 


The  Cat  of  Great  Britain 

The  Cat  is  surely  most  like  to  the  Leoparde, 
and  hathe  a  great  mouthe,  and  sharp  teeth,  and  a 
long  tongue,  plyante,  thin  and  subtle.  He  lap- 
peth  therewith  when  he  drinketh,  as  other  beastes 
do  that  have  the  nether  lip  shorter  than  the  over ; 
for,  by  cause  of  unevenness  of  lips,  such  beastes 
suck  not  in  drinking,  but  lap  and  lick,  as  Aristotle 
saith,  and  Plinius  also.  He  is  a  swifte  and  merye 
beaste  in  youthe,  and  leapeth,  and  riseth  on  all 
things  that  are  tofore  him,  and  is  led  by  a  straw, 
and  playeth  therewith;  and  he  is  a  righte  heavye 
beaste  in  age,  and  full  sleepye,  and  lyeth  slyly  in 
waite  for  Mice,  and  is  ware  where  they  bene  more 
by  smell  than  by  sighte,  and  hunteth,  and  riseth  on 
them  in  privy  places.  And  when  he  taketh  a 
Mouse,  he  playeth  therewith,  and  eateth  him  after 
the  play.  He  is  a  cruell  beaste  when  he  is  wilde, 
and  dwelleth  in  woods,  and  hunteth  there  small 
beastes  as  conies  and  hares. 

Translated  from  the  Latin  by  Thomas  Berthlet. 
Printed  by  Wynkyn  de  Worde.     1498. 


75 


=THE    CAT 


Catus,  the  Cat 

As  to  the  Cat's  Eyes,  authors  say  that  they 
shine  in  the  Night,  and  see  better  at  the  full,  and 
more  dimly  at  the  change  of  the  Moon.  Also  that 
the  Cat  doth  vary  his  Eyes  with  the  Sun ;  the  Pupil 
being  round  at  Sunrise,  narrow  towards  Noon,  and 
not  to  be  seen  at  all  at  Night,  but  the  whole  Eye 
shining  in  the  darkness.  These  appearances  of  the 
Cat's  Eyes  I  am  sure  are  true;  but  whether  they 
answer  to  the  time  of  the  Day,  I  have  never  ob- 
served. It  is  a  crafty,  subtle,  watchful  Creature, 
very  loving  and  familiar  with  Mankind;  but  the 
mortal  Enemy  of  the  Rat,  Mouse,  and  every  sort 
of  Bird,  which  it  seizes  on  as  its  Prey.  Its  flesh 
is  not  generally  eaten,  yet  in  some  Countries  is 
esteemed  an  excellent  dish. 

The  Compleat  English  Physician,  1693, 

William  Salmon. 


76 


THE    CAT: 


For  whoso  wolde  senge  a  cattes  skyn, 
Thenne  wolde  the  cat  wel  dwellen  in  hir  in ; 
And  if  the  cattes  skyn  be  slyk  and  gay, 
She  wol  nat  dwelle  in  house  half  a  day. 
But  forth  she  wol,  er  any  day  be  dawed, 
To  shewe  hir  skyn,  and  goon  a-caterwawed. 

Chaucer. 


77 


THE    CAT 


Hinse  of  Hinsef  eld 

I  have  added  a  romantic  inmate  to  my  family, 
—  a  large  bloodhound,  allowed  to  be  the  finest  dog 
of  the  kind  in  Scotland,  perfectly  gentle,  affection- 
ate, good-natured,  and  the  darling  of  all  the 
children.  He  is  between  the  deer-greyhound  and 
mastiff,  with  a  shaggy  mane  like  a  lion,  and  always 
sits  beside  me  at  dinner,  his  head  as  high  as  the 
back  of  my  chair;  yet  it  will  gratify  you  to  know 
that  a  favourite  cat  keeps  him  in  the  greatest  pos- 
sible order,  insists  upon  all  rights  of  precedence, 
and  scratches  with  impunity  the  nose  of  an  animal 
who  would  make  no  bones  of  a  wolf,  and  pulls  down 
a  red  deer  without  fear  or  difficulty.  I  heard  my 
friend  set  up  some  most  piteous  howls  (  and  I  assure 
you  the  noise  was  no  joke),  all  occasioned  by  his 
fear  of  passing  Puss,  who  had  stationed  himself  on 
the  stairs. 

Sir  Walter  Scott  to  Joanna  Baillie. 


78 


THE    CAT 


Hodge 

I  shall  never  forget  the  indulgence  with  which 
Dr.  Johnson  treated  Hodge,  his  cat,  for  whom  he 
himself  used  to  go  out  and  buy  oysters,  lest  the 
servants,  having  that  trouble,  should  take  a  dislike 
to  the  poor  creature.  I  am  unluckily  one  of  those 
who  have  an  antipathy  to  a  cat,  so  that  I  am  un- 
easy when  I  am  in  the  room  with  one;  and  I  own 
I  frequently  suffered  a  good  deal  from  the  presence 
of  this  same  Hodge.  I  recollect  him  one  day 
scrambling  up  Dr.  Johnson's  breast,  apparently 
with  much  satisfaction,  while  my  friend,  smiling 
and  half  whistling,  rubbed  down  his  back,  and 
pulled  him  by  the  tail ;  and  when  I  observed  he  was 
a  fine  cat,  saying,  "  Why,  yes,  sir,  but  I  have  had 
cats  whom  I  liked  better  than  this  " ;  and  then,  as 
if  perceiving  Hodge  to  be  out  of  countenance,  add- 
ing, "  but  he  is  a  very  fine  cat,  a  very  fine  cat 
indeed." 

This  reminds  me  of  the  ludicrous  account  which 
he  gave  Mr.  Langton  of  the  despicable  state  of  a 
young  gentleman  of  good  family :  "  Sir,  when  I 
heard  of  him  last,  he  was  running  about  town, 
shooting  cats."  And  then,  in  a  sort  of  kindly 
reverie,  he  bethought  himself  of  his  own  favourite 
cat,  and  said,  "  But  Hodge  shan't  be  shot ;  no,  no, 
Hodge  shall  not  be  shot." 

Life  of  Samuel  Johnson,  James  Boswei/l. 
79 


=THE    CAT 


Hodge,  the  Cat 

Burly  and  big  his  books  among, 

Good  Samuel  Johnson  sat, 
With  frowning  brows  and  wig  askew, 
His  snuff-strewn  waistcoat  far  from  new; 
So  stern  and  menacing  his  air, 

That  neither  "  Black  Sam  "  nor  the  maid 
To  knock  or  interrupt  him  dare; 
Yet  close  beside  him,  unafraid, 
Sat  Hodge,  the  cat. 


"  This  participle,"  the  Doctor  wrote, 
"  The  modern  scholar  cavils  at, 
But," —  even  as  he  penned  the  word, 
A  soft  protesting  note  was  heard: 
The  Doctor  fumbled  with  his  pen, 

The  dawning  thought  took  wings  and  flew, 
The  sound  repeated  came  again, 
It  was  a  faint  reminding  "  Mew !  " 
From  Hodge,  the  cat. 


"  Poor  Pussy !  "  said  the  learned  man, 

Giving  the  glossy  fur  a  pat, 
"  It  is  your  dinner  time,  I  know, 
And, —  well,  perhaps  I  ought  to  go; 

80 


THE    CAT: 


For  if  Sam  every  day  were  sent 
Off  from  his  work  your  fish  to  buy, 

Why,  men  are  men,  he  might  resent, 
And  starve  or  kick  you  on  the  sly; 
Eh!     Hodge,  my  cat?  " 


The  Dictionary  was  laid  down, 

The  Doctor  tied  his  vast  cravat, 
And  down  the  buzzing  street  he  strode, 
Taking  an  often-trodden  road, 
And  halted  at  a  well-known  stall: 

"  Fishmonger,"  spoke  the  Doctor  gruff, 
"  Give  me  six  oysters,  that  is  all ; 

Hodge  knows  when  he  has  had  enough, 
Hodge  is  my  cat." 


Then  home ;  Puss  dined,  and  while  in  sleep 

He  chased  a  visionary  rat, 
His  master  sat  him  down  again, 
Rewrote  his  page,  renibbed  his  pen; 
Each  i  was  dotted,  each  t  was  crossed, 

He  laboured  on  for  all  to  read, 
Nor  deemed  that  time  was  waste  or  lost 
Spent  in  supplying  the  small  need 
Of  Hodge,  the  cat. 


81 


THE    CAT 


The  dear  old  Doctor!  fierce  of  mien, 

Untidy,  arbitrary,  fat, 
What  gentle  thoughts  his  name  enfold! 
So  generous  of  his  scanty  gold, 
So  quick  to  love,  so  hot  to  scorn, 

Kind  to  all  sufferers  under  heaven, 
A  tenderer  despot  ne'er  was  born ; 
His  big  heart  held  a  corner  even 
For  Hodge,  the  cat. 

Susan  Coolidge. 


82 


THE    CAT= 


Atossa 

I  have  just  been  called  to  the  door  by  the 
sweet  voice  of  Toss,  whose  morning  proceed- 
ings are  wonderful.  She  sleeps  —  She  has  just 
jumped  on  my  lap,  and  her  beautiful  tail  has  made 
this  smudge,  but  I  have  put  her  down  again.  I 
was  going  to  say  that  she  sleeps  on  an  armchair 
before  the  drawing-room  fire ;  descends  the  moment 
she  hears  the  servants  about  in  the  morning,  and 
makes  them  let  her  out;  comes  back  and  enters 
Flu's  room  with  Eliza  regularly  at  half-past  seven. 
Then  she  comes  to  my  door,  and  gives  a  mew,  and 
then, —  especially  if  I  let  her  in,  and  go  on  writing 
or  reading  without  taking  any  notice  of  her, — 
there  is  a  real  demonstration  of  affection,  such  as 
never  again  occurs  in  the  day.  She  purrs,  she 
walks  round  and  round  me,  she  jumps  in  my  lap, 
she  turns  to  me  and  rubs  her  head  and  nose  against 
my  chin,  she  opens  her  mouth  and  raps  her  pretty 
white  teeth  against  my  pen.  Then  she  leaps  down, 
settles  herself  by  the  fire,  and  never  shows  any  more 
affection  all  day. 

Matthew  Arnold  to  his  mother. 


83 


=THE    CAT 


Atossa 


Thou  hast  seen  Atossa  sage 

Sit  for  hours  beside  thy  cage; 

Thou  wouldst  chirp,  thou  foolish  bird, 

Flutter,  chirp, —  she  never  stirred ! 

What  were  now  these  toys  to  her? 

Down  she  sank  amid  her  fur; 

Eyed  thee  with  a  soul  resign'd, 

And  thou  deemedst  cats  were  kind! 

Cruel,  but  composed  and  bland, 

Dumb,  inscrutable,  and  grand; 

So  Tiberius  might  have  sat, 

Had  Tiberius  been  a  cat. 

Poor  Matthias,  Matthew  Arnold. 


84 


THE    CAT- 


Moumoutte  Blanche 

I  had  been  long  without  a  cat  when  Moumoutte 
Blanche  was  brought  to  me.  She  lay,  a  tiny  ball 
of  white  fur,  on  the  red  carpet,  and  I  lifted  her 
up  very  gently  with  both  hands,  so  that  she  might 
be  reassured,  and  say  to  herself  after  the  manner 
of  kittens :  "  This  is  a  man  who  understands  how 
to  hold  me,  who  is  a  friend,  and  whose  caresses  I 
can  venture  to  receive  with  condescension !  "  Such 
a  pretty  little  cat  as  she  was,  her  baby  eyes  yellow 
and  gleaming,  her  tiny  nose  rose  pink,  her  fur 
deep  and  soft,  warm  to  the  touch,  and  beautifully 
clean.  A  patch  of  black  on  her  forehead  looked 
like  a  coquettish  little  bonnet,  another  on  her  shoul- 
ders, like  a  cape;  her  tail  was  black,  her  throat 
and  paws  whiter  than  swan's  down.  She  weighed 
nothing,  this  bundle  of  nerves,  of  snowy  fur,  of 
subtle  and  infinite  caprice. 

After  a  time  she  grew  to  love  us,  as  a  cat  loves, 
with  no  docility,  but  with  an  unalterable  and  touch- 
ing constancy,  which  well  deserves  that  I  should 
hold  her  memory  dear.  In  the  spring,  when  the 
pale  March  sun  warmed  the  chilly  earth,  she  had 
the  ever-repeated  delight  of  watching  Sulei'ma,  the 
tortoise,  her  friend  and  fellow  guest,  crawl  down 
the  garden  paths.     In  the  lovely  May  weather  she 

85 


THE    CAT, 


grew  bold  and  restless,  wearying  of  her  austere  sur- 
roundings, and  escaping  more  than  once  to  wander 
over  the  neighbouring  roofs.  In  the  summer  time 
she  was  languid  as  a  Creole,  drowsing  for  hours  on 
the  wall  beneath  the  honeysuckle  and  roses,  or  sun- 
ning herself  on  the  white  stones  between  the  pots 
of  flowering  cactus.  Exquisitely  and  fastidiously 
neat,  sedate  in  manner,  an  aristocrat  to  the  tips  of 
her  little  claws,  she  so  hated  other  cats  that  the 
advent  of  a  visitor  put  all  her  serenity  to  flight. 
In  her  own  domain  she  suffered  no  intrusion.  If 
over  the  garden  wall  two  little  ears  were  raised, 
two  little  eyes  peeped  furtively,  if  a  rustling  in  the 
branches,  a  trembling  of  the  ivy  leaves  awakened 
her  suspicion,  her  fur  bristled,  and  she  sprang  like 
a  young  Fury  at  the  stranger.  Nothing  could  re- 
strain her,  and  presently  we,  the  listeners,  would 
hear  the  sound  of  scuffling,  a  fall,  and  lamentable 
cries.  On  the  whole,  an  independent  and  somewhat 
lawless  cat ;  but  affectionate  and  caressing,  eager  to 
roam,  and  still  more  glad  to  return  to  us  when  her 
vagabond  excursions  were  over. 

Moumoutte  Blanche  was  five  years  old,  in  the 
flower  of  her  beauty,  and  I  had  grown  attached  to 
her  as  a  member  of  the  family  and  a  household 
god,  when,  from  the  Gulf  of  Pekin,  three  thousand 
leagues  away,  there  came  one  who  was  destined  to 

86 


THE   CAT= 


be   her   inseparable   friend,   the   strange,   bizarre, 
humbly  born  little  cat,  Moumoutte  Chinoise. 

Vies  de  Deux  Chattes,  Pierre  Loti. 


87 


=THE    CAT 


Moumoutte  Chinoise 

I  remember  the  day  when  the  Chinese  cat  and  I 
established  friendly  relations.  It  was  a  melan- 
choly afternoon  in  September.  The  first  fogs  of 
autumn  were  brooding  over  the  cold,  unquiet 
waters.  We  were  sailing  eastward,  and  the  ship 
creaked  plaintively  as  she  slid  into  the  hollows  of 
the  sea.  I  sat  writing  in  the  obscurity  of  my  cabin, 
which  grew  darker  and  darker  as  the  green  waves 
washed  over  my  closed  port-hole. 

Suddenly  a  little  form  came  stealing  out  of  the 
shadows.  It  drew  nearer,  stealthily  and  hesita- 
tingly. There  was  an  oriental  grace  in  its  fashion 
of  holding  one  paw  suspended  in  air,  as  though 
uncertain  where  to  place  it  next.  It  looked  at  me 
with  anxious  interrogation. 

"  What  does  the  cat  want  ?  "  I  said  to  myself. 
She  has  had  her  dinner.  She  is  not  hungry. 
What  is  it  she  is  after?  " 

As  though  to  answer  me,  la  Chinoise  crept  closer 
and  closer,  until  she  was  at  my  feet.  Then  sitting 
upright,  and  curling  her  tail  about  her,  she  uttered 
a  gentle  little  cry,  looking  straight  into  my  eyes 
which  seemed  to  hold  some  message  she  could  read. 
She  understood  that  I  was  a  thinking  creature, 
capable  of  pity,  accessible  to  a  mute  prayer,  and 

88 


THE    CAT: 


that  my  eyes  were  mirrors  in  which  her  troubled 
soul  must  study  my  good  or  bad  designs.  It  is 
terrifying  to  think  how  near  an  animal  is  to  us 
when  it  can  realize  such  things. 

For  the  first  time  I  looked  attentively  at  the  little 
visitor  who  for  two  weeks  had  shared  my  lodgings. 
She  was  tawny  as  a  wild  hare,  and  striped  like  a 
tiger.  Her  face  and  neck  were  white.  Certainly 
an  ugly  and  a  miserable  cat ;  but  her  very  ugliness 
had  in  it  something  strange  and  appealing,  some- 
thing which  contrasted  pleasantly  with  the  comely 
cats  of  France.  Her  movements  were  stealthy  and 
sinuous,  her  great  ears  stood  erect,  her  tail  was 
long  and  ragged,  her  eyes  alone  were  beautiful,  the 
deep  golden  eyes  of  the  East,  restless  and  full  of 
expression. 

While  I  watched  her,  I  carelessly  laid  my  hand 
on  her  head,  and  stroked  the  yellow  fur.  It  was 
hot  mere  physical  pleasure  she  felt  in  the  caress, 
but  a  sense  of  protection,  of  sympathy  in  her 
abandonment.  It  was  for  this  she  had  crept  from 
her  hiding-place ;  it  was  for  this,  and  not  for  food 
and  drink,  that  she  had  come,  wistful  and  terrified, 
to  beg.  Her  little  cat  soul  implored  some  com- 
pany, some  friendship  in  a  lonely  world. 

Where  had  she  learned  this  need,  poor  outcast, 
never  before  touched  by  a  kindly  hand,  never  the 

89 


=THE    CAT 


object  of  affection,  unless,  indeed,  the  paternal 
junk  held  some  forlorn  Chinese  child,  as  joyless, 
as  famished,  as  friendless  as  herself;  a  child  who, 
perishing  perchance  in  that  miserable  abode,  would 
leave  no  more  trace  of  its  incomplete  existence  than 
she  had  done. 

At  last  one  small  paw  was  lifted,  oh,  so  deli- 
cately, so  discreetly,  and  after  a  long,  anxious  look, 
Moumoutte,  believing  the  time  had  now  come  for 
venturing  all  things,  took  heart  of  grace,  and 
leaped  upon  my  knee. 

There  she  curled  herself,  but  with  tact  and  re- 
serve, seeming  to  make  her  little  body  as  light  as 
possible,  a  mere  featherweight,  and  never  taking 
her  eyes  from  my  face.  She  stayed  a  long  time, 
inconveniencing  me  greatly ;  but  I  lacked  the  cour- 
age to  put  her  down,  as  I  should  have  done  had  she 
been  pretty  and  gay.  Nervously  aware  of  my 
least  movement,  she  watched  me  intently,  not  as 
though  fearing  I  would  do  her  harm, —  she  was  too 
intelligent  to  think  me  capable  of  such  a  thing, — 
but  as  though  to  ask,  "  Are  you  sure  I  do  not 
weary  or  offend  you? "  Then  her  disquietude 
softened  into  cajolery,  and  her  eyes,  lifted  to 
mine,  said  with  charming  distinctness :  "  On  this 
autumn  evening,  so  dreary  to  the  soul  of  a  cat, 
since  we  two  are  isolated  in  this  unquiet  abode,  and 

90 


THE    CAT: 


lost  amid  infinite  dangers,  let  us  bestow  upon  each 
other  a  little  of  that  mysterious  something  which 
sweetens  misery  and  quiets  death,  which  is  called 
affection,  and  which  expresses  itself  from  time  to 
time  in  a  caress." 

Vies  de  Deux  Chattes,  Pierre  Loti. 


91 


THE    CAT 


The  Two  Cats 

The  spring  was  clear  and  beautiful,  the  air  loud 
with  the  song  of  birds,  and  to  Moumoutte  Chinoise, 
reared  in  suffocating  darkness,  the  bright  sunshine, 
the  soft  winds,  and  the  presence  of  other  cats  were 
both  a  mystery  and  a  delight.  She  explored  the 
garden  from  end  to  end,  smelling  the  young  blades 
of  grass,  and  the  tiny  leaves  that  came  shooting  up 
from  the  warm  earth.  All  that  was  so  familiar  to 
us  was  to  her  new  and  strange;  and  Moumoutte 
Blanche,  once  the  sole  ruler  of  this  lovely  place, 
shared  with  her  its  endless  wonders. 

The  borders  of  the  miniature  lake  pleased  la 
Chinoise  best  of  all.  She  picked  her  careful  way 
through  the  grass,  which  grew  taller  day  by  day; 
she  crawled  on  her  belly,  as  though  tracking  down 
her  quarry;  she  hid  behind  the  lilliputian  rocks, 
and  crouched  under  the  ivy,  for  all  the  world  like 
a  little  tiger  in  a  jungle.  I  amused  myself  by 
watching  her  slow  progress,  her  frequent  pauses, 
her  bewilderment;  and,  whenever  she  caught  me 
looking  at  her,  she  turned  and  faced  me,  immovable 
as  a  statue,  with  one  paw  delicately  held  in  air. 
Her  droll  yellow  eyes  fixed  upon  my  face  said  as 
plainly  as  words  could  do :  "  You  will  permit  me 
to  continue  my  stroll?     See  how  lightly  and  care- 

92 


THE   CAT: 


fully  I  walk.  And  don't  you  think  that  everything 
here  is  very  pretty?  These  paths,  and  these 
strange  little  green  things  which  smell  so  good? 
And  then  those  other  objects  I  see  above  me,  which 
are  called  the  sun,  the  moon,  the  stars.  How  dif- 
ferent it  is  from  our  old  lodgings,  and  how  well  off 
we  are,  you  and  I,  in  tins  country." 

In  the  winter  our  cats  became  our  fireside  guests, 
our  constant  companions,  sharing  with  us,  not  only 
the  warmth  and  flicker  of  the  flames,  but  the  vague 
melancholy  of  our  twilight  reveries,  and  our  un- 
fathomable dreams.  This,  too,  is  the  time  of  their 
greatest  beauty.  At  the  first  approach  of  cold 
weather,  Moumoutte  Chinoise  patched  up  the  holes 
in  her  ragged  coat,  and  Moumoutte  Blanche 
adorned  herself  with  an  imposing  cravat,  a  snow 
white  boa,  which  framed  her  little  face  like  some 
vast  Medicean  ruff.  The  friendship  of  the  two 
cats  for  each  other  grew  stronger  in  such  close 
companionship.  In  the  depth  of  an  armchair,  or 
on  their  cushions  before  the  fire,  they  slept  for 
days  together,  rolled  up  into  one  big  furry  ball, 
without  visible  head  or  tail. 

It  was  Moumoutte  Chinoise  who  perseveringly 
courted  this  comfortable  warmth.  When,  after  a 
short  and  chilly  run  in  the  garden,  she  found  her 


THE    CAT 


friend  sleeping  by  the  fire,  she  would  steal  up  to 
her  very  softly,  and  with  as  much  caution  as  if  she 
were  stalking  a  mouse.  Moumoutte  Blanche,  al- 
ways nervous,  pettish,  and  averse  to  being  dis- 
turbed, would  sometimes  resent  the  intrusion,  and 
give  her  a  gentle  slap  by  way  of  remonstrance.  It 
was  never  returned.  La  Chinoise  would  merely 
lift  her  little  paw  with  a  mocking  gesture,  looking 
at  me  meanwhile  out  of  the  tails  of  her  eyes,  as 
though  to  say :  "  She  has  a  difficult  temper,  hasn't 
she;  but  you  know  I  never  take  her  seriously." 
Then  with  gentle  determination  she  would  nestle 
resolutely  by  Blanche's  side,  and  bury  her  head  in 
the  soft  white  fur.  Her  glance  of  drowsy  triumph 
expressed  the  fulness  of  her  content.  "  This  is 
what  I  was  after,"  it  said,  "  and  here  I  am." 

Vies  de  Deux  Chattes,  Pierre  Loti. 


94 


THE    CAT^ 


Eponine 

Eponine  is  a  small  cat,  very  delicately  made. 
Her  eyes  have  the  oblique  slant  of  the  Chinese,  and 
are  sea-green  like  the  eyes  of  Pallas  Athene;  her 
little  velvety  nose  looks  like  a  fine  truffle  of  Peri- 
gord;  her  physiognomy  is  charmingly  expressive; 
her  superb  fur  is  of  a  deep  and  lustrous  black. 
Never  was  cat  more  nervous,  sensitive  and  sympa- 
thetic. Never  was  cat  more  charged  with  elec- 
tricity. If  you  stroke  her  smooth  back  on  a  winter 
night,  tiny  blue  sparks  flash  beneath  your  hand. 
She  is  the  soul  of  hospitality,  and  delights  to  re- 
ceive my  visitors,  leading  the  way  into  the  salon, 
and  entertaining  them  as  best  she  can  with  polite 
little  sounds,  intended  for  conversation.  "  Do  not 
be  impatient,"  she  tries  to  say,  "  Monsieur  is  com- 
ing down.  Look  at  the  pictures,  or,  if  I  amuse 
you,  talk  to  me."  When  I  enter,  she  retires  dis- 
creetly to  an  armchair,  or  a  corner  of  the  piano, 
and  listens  to  the  conversation  without  interrupting 
it,  as  one  accustomed  from  kittenhood  to  good 
society. 

At  breakfast  and  at  dinner  Eponine  sits  by  my 
side,  being  permitted,  because  she  is  so  small,  to 
rest  her  fore-paws  on  the  extreme  edge  of  the  table. 
She  has  her  own  plate  and  tumbler,  and  she  waits 

95 


THE    CAT 


her  turn  to  be  helped,  behaving  with  a  gentleness 
and  decency  which  might  be  imitated  by  many  chil- 
dren. She  is  very  punctual,  coming  as  soon  as  she 
hears  the  bell ;  and,  when  I  enter  the  dining-room, 
I  find  her  already  in  her  place,  her  paws  folded  on 
the  tablecloth,  her  smooth  forehead  held  up  to  be 
kissed,  like  a  well-bred  little  girl  who  is  politely 
affectionate  to  relatives  and  old  people. 

Eponine  is  passionately  fond  of  fish,  and  some- 
times, when  by  careful  investigation  in  the  kitchen 
she  has  ascertained  that  there  is  fish  to  come,  she 
refuses,  after  the  fashion  of  children  eager  for 
dessert,  to  touch  her  plate  of  soup.  On  such  occa- 
sions I  say  to  her  coldly :  "  Mademoiselle,  a 
young  lady  who  is  not  hungry  for  soup  is  not  ex- 
pected to  have  any  appetite  for  fish,"  and  the  dish 
is  carried  pitilessly  past  her  eager  little  nose. 
Once  convinced  that  I  am  in  earnest,  Eponine,  like 
the  glutton  that  she  is,  laps  up  her  soup  hastily, 
swallows  every  crumb  of  bread,  and  then  looks  at 
me  with  the  complacent  air  of  one  who  has  acquit- 
ted herself  of  her  duty,  and  whose  conscience  is 
free  from  reproach.  Her  portion  of  fish  is  then 
served  to  her,  and  she  eats  it  with  well-merited 
enjoyment,  finishing  her  repast  with  a  little  drink 
of  water. 

When  I  am  giving  a  dinner,  Eponine  does  not 
96 


THE    CAT= 


need  to  wait  until  the  guests  arrive,  to  make  sure 
of  this  fact.  As  soon  as  she  sees  that  knife,  fork 
and  spoon  are  lying  by  her  plate,  she  assumes  that 
she  is  not  expected  at  table,  and  retires  without 
umbrage  to  the  piano  stool,  which  is  her  refuge  on 
such  occasions.  Those  who  deny  that  animals  are 
capable  of  reasoning  may  explain  this  conduct  as 
best  they  can.  My  observant  and  judicious  little 
cat  perceives  at  her  place  certain  utensils  which  are 
used  only  by  human  beings,  and  therefore  con- 
cludes that  she  must  this  day  resign  her  privileges 
in  favour  of  a  visitor.  She  never  suffers  herself  to 
be  mistaken ;  but  now  and  then,  if  she  recognizes  an 
old  friend,  she  will  leap  upon  his  knee,  and  intimate 
that  she  is  ready  to  accept  any  choice  morsel  which 
he  may  be  disposed  to  share  with  her. 

Menagerie  Intime,  Theophile  Gautier. 


97 


THE    CAT 


Don  Pierrot  de  Navarre 

Pierrot  received  his  name  in  kittenhood,  on 
account  of  his  immaculate  whiteness.  His  title 
was  added  later,  and  was  a  tribute  to  his  size  and 
majesty  of  demeanour.  He  had  a  charming  dis- 
position, and  shared  our  family  life  with  an  inti- 
macy which  is  possible  only  to  cats  who  are  treated 
with  gentleness  and  consideration.  Sitting  close 
to  the  fire,  he  seemed  always  interested  in  the  con- 
versation, and  now  and  then,  as  he  looked  from  one 
speaker  to  another,  he  would  give  a  little  protesting 
mew,  as  though  in  remonstrance  to  some  opinion 
which  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  share.  He 
adored  books,  and  whenever  he  found  one  open  on 
the  table,  he  would  sit  down  by  it,  look  attentively 
at  the  printed  page,  turn  over  a  leaf  or  two,  and 
finally  fall  asleep,  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  had 
been  trying  to  read  a  modern  novel.  As  soon  as 
he  saw  me  sit  down  to  write,  he  would  jump  on  my 
desk,  and  watch  the  crooked  and  fantastic  figures 
which  my  pen  scattered  over  the  paper,  turning  his 
head  every  time  I  began  a  fresh  line.  Sometimes 
it  occurred  to  him  to  take  a  part  in  my  work,  and 
then  he  would  make  little  clutches  at  my  pen,  with 
the  evident  design  of  writing  a  page  or  so ;  for  he 
was  an  aesthetic  cat  like  Hoffman's  Murr,  and  I 

98 


THE    CAT= 


more  than  half  suspect  him  of  composing  a  volume 
of  memoirs,  scribbling  feverishly  at  night  in  some 
remote  gutter  by  the  light  of  his  own  gleaming 
eyes.  Alas,  that  such  compositions  should  have 
been  lost  forever ! 

Don  Pierrot  never  went  to  bed  until  I  came  home 
at  night.  I  found  him  always  waiting  for  me  at 
the  door,  and  he  received  me  with  enthusiasm,  rub- 
bing himself  against  my  legs,  arching  his  back,  and 
purring  a  loud  welcome.  Then  he  would  stalk  be- 
fore me  like  a  groom  of  the  chamber,  prepared  no 
doubt  to  carry  my  candle  had  I  entrusted  it  to  him. 
He  slept  on  the  headboard  of  my  bed,  perched 
safely  like  a  bird  on  a  bough;  but  in  the  early 
morning  would  descend  from  this  lofty  station,  and 
lie  patiently  by  my  side  until  it  was  time  to  get  up. 

On  one  point  Pierrot  was  inflexible.  Like  the 
concierge,  he  considered  that  midnight  was  quite 
late  enough  for  me  to  be  abroad.  It  so  happened, 
however,  that  the  little  club  known  as  the  "  Society 
of  the  Four  Candles,"  because  four  candles  in  four 
silver  candlesticks  lit  up  the  four  corners  of  the 
table,  was  formed  about  this  time ;  and  our  discus- 
sions were  often  so  prolonged  and  so  engrossing 
that,  like  Cinderella,  we  took  no  count  of  the  hour. 
For  several  nights  Pierrot  waited  up  for  me  until 
two  o'clock;  then,  seriously  concerned,  he  marked 

99 


=THE    CAT 


his  displeasure  by  going  to  bed  and  to  sleep  with- 
out me.  I  was  so  touched  by  this  mute  protest 
against  my  innocent  dissipations  that  I  resolved  to 
amend  my  ways;  but  it  was  a  long  time  before  I 
could  convince  Pierrot  that  my  conversion  was  sin- 
cere. Many  nights  of  unbroken  punctuality  were 
needed  to  restore  his  confidence,  and  induce  him  to 
take  up  his  old  post  by  the  door,  and  to  receive  me 
with  his  old  urbanity. 

It  is  no  easy  task  to  win  the  friendship  of  a  cat. 
He  is  a  philosopher,  sedate,  tranquil,  a  creature  of 
habit,  a  lover  of  decency  and  order.  He  does  not 
bestow  his  regard  lightly,  and,  though  he  may  con- 
sent to  be  your  companion,  he  will  never  be  your 
slave.  Even  in  his  most  affectionate  moods  he 
preserves  his  freedom,  and  refuses  a  servile  obedi- 
ence. But  once  gain  his  absolute  confidence,  and 
he  is  a  friend  for  life.  He  shares  your  hours  of 
work,  of  solitude,  of  melancholy.  He  spends 
whole  evenings  on  your  knee,  purring  and  dozing, 
content  with  your  silence,  and  spurning  for  your 
sake  the  society  of  his  kind.  In  vain  loud  miaul- 
ings  from  the  neighbouring  roof  summon  him  to 
those  choice  entertainments  where  red  herrings  take 
the  place  of  tea.  He  pays  no  heed,  and  cannot  be 
tempted  from  your  side.  If  you  put  him  down, 
he  leaps  back  again,  mewing  a  gentle  protest. 
100 


THE    CAT= 


From  time  to  time  he  looks  into  your  face  with  eyes 
so  human,  so  full  of  understanding  and  regard, 
that  you  are  smitten  by  fear.  Can  it  be  possible 
that  there  is  no  thought  behind  that  absorbed  and 
mysterious  scrutiny? 

Menagerie  Intime,  Theophile  Gautiee. 


101 


THE    CAT 


Nero 

I  own  that  when  Agrippina  brought  her  first- 
born son  —  aged  two  days  —  and  established  him 
in  my  bedroom  closet,  the  plan  struck  me  at  the 
start  as  inconvenient.  I  had  prepared  another 
nursery  for  the  little  Claudius  Nero,  and  I  en- 
deavoured for  a  while  to  convince  his  mother  that 
my  arrangements  were  best.  But  Agrippina  was 
inflexible.  The  closet  suited  her  in  every  respect; 
and,  with  charming  and  irresistible  flattery,  she 
gave  me  to  understand  in  the  mute  language  I 
knew  so  well  that  she  wished  her  baby  boy  to  be 
under  my  immediate  protection.  "  I  bring  him  to 
you  because  I  trust  you,"  she  said  as  plainly  as 
looks  can  speak.  "  Downstairs  they  handle  him  all 
the  time,  and  it  is  not  good  for  kittens  to  be  han- 
dled. Here  he  is  safe  from  harm,  and  here  he 
shall  remain."  After  a  few  weak  remonstrances, 
the  futility  of  which  I  too  clearly  understood,  her 
persistence  carried  the  day.  I  removed  my  cloth- 
ing from  the  closet,  laid  a  rug  upon  the  floor, 
had  the  door  taken  from  its  hinges,  and  resigned 
myself  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  to  the  daily  and 
hourly  companionship  of  an  infant. 

I  was  amply  rewarded.  People  who  require  their 
household  cat  to  rear  her  offspring  in  some  remote 

102 


THE    CAT= 


attic,  or  dark  corner  of  the  cellar,  have  no  idea  of 
all  the  diversion  and  pleasure  that  they  lose.  It 
is  delightful  to  watch  the  little  blind,  sprawling, 
feeble,  helpless  things  develop  swiftly  into  the 
grace  and  agility  of  kittenhood.  It  is  delightful 
to  see  the  mingled  pride  and  anxiety  of  the  mother, 
whose  parental  love  increases  with  every  hour  of 
care,  and  who  exhibits  her  young  family  as  if  they 
were  infant  Gracchi,  the  hope  of  all  their  race. 
During  Nero's  extreme  youth,  there  were  times,  I 
admit,  when  Agrippina  wearied  both  of  his  com- 
panionship and  of  her  own  maternal  duties.  Once 
or  twice  she  abandoned  him  at  night  for  the 
greater  luxury  of  my  bed,  where  she  slept  tran- 
quilly by  my  side,  unmindful  of  the  little  wailing 
cries  with  which  Nero  lamented  her  desertion. 
Once  or  twice  the  heat  of  early  summer  tempted  her 
to  spend  the  evening  on  the  piazza  roof  which  lay 
beneath  my  windows,  and  I  have  passed  some  anx- 
ious hours  awaiting  her  return,  and  wondering 
what  would  happen  if  she  never  came  back,  and  I 
were  left  to  bring  up  the  baby  by  hand. 

But  as  the  days  sped  on,  and  Nero  grew  rapidly 
in  beauty  and  intelligence,  Agrippina's  affection 
for  him  knew  no  bounds.  She  could  hardly  bear 
to  leave  him,  even  for  a  little  while,  and  always 
came  hurrying  back  to  him  with  a  loud,  frightened 
103 


THE    CAT 


mew,  as  if  fearing  he  might  have  been  stolen  in 
her  absence.  At  night  she  purred  over  him  for 
hours,  or  made  little  gurgling  noises  expressive  of 
ineffable  content.  She  resented  the  careless  curi- 
osity of  strangers,  and  was  a  trifle  supercilious 
when  the  cook  stole  softly  in  to  give  vent  to  her 
fervent  admiration.  But  from  first  to  last  she 
shared  with  me  her  pride  and  pleasure;  and  the 
joy  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  as  she  raised  them  to 
mine,  was  frankly  confiding  and  sympathetic. 
When  the  infant  Claudius  rolled  for  the  first  time 
over  the  ledge  of  the  closet,  and  lay  sprawling  on 
the  bedroom  floor,  it  would  have  been  hard  to  say 
which  of  us  was  the  more  elated  at  his  prowess. 
A  narrow  pink  ribbon  of  honour  was  at  once  tied 
around  the  small  adventurer's  neck,  and  he  was 
pronounced  the  most  daring  and  agile  of  kittens. 
From  that  day  his  brief  career  was  a  series  of  bril- 
liant triumphs. 

A  Kitten,  Agnes  Repplier. 


104 


THE    CAT 


Calvin 

I  hesitate  a  little  to  speak  of  Calvin's  capacity 
for  friendship,  and  of  the  affectionateness  of  his 
nature,  for  I  know,  from  his  own  reserve,  that  he 
would  not  care  to  have  it  much  talked  about.  We 
understood  each  other  perfectly,  but  we  never  made 
any  fuss  about  it.  When  I  spoke  his  name  and 
snapped  my  fingers,  he  came  to  me ;  when  I  returned 
home  at  night  he  was  pretty  sure  to  be  waiting  for 
me  near  the  gate,  and  would  rise  and  saunter  along 
the  walk,  as  if  his  being  there  were  purely  acci- 
dental,—  so  shy  was  he  commonly  of  showing  feel- 
ing; and  when  I  opened  the  door,  he  never  rushed 
in  like  a  cat,  but  loitered  and  lounged,  as  if  he 
had  had  no  intention  of  going  in,  but  would  con- 
descend to.  And  yet  the  fact  was  he  knew  dinner 
was  ready,  and  he  was  bound  to  be  there.  He  kept 
the  run  of  dinner-time.  It  happened  sometimes, 
during  our  absence  in  the  summer,  that  dinner 
would  be  early,  and  Calvin,  walking  about  the 
grounds,  missed  it,  and  came  in  late.  But  he  did 
not  make  a  mistake  the  second  day.  There  was  one 
thing  he  never  did, —  he  never  rushed  through  an 
open  doorway.  He  never  forgot  his  dignity.  If 
he  had  asked  to  have  the  door  opened,  and  was 
eager  to  go  out,  he  always  went  deliberately.     I 

105 


=THE    CAT 


can  see  him  now,  standing  on  the  sill,  looking  about 
at  the  sky,  as  if  he  were  thinking  whether  it  were 
worth  while  to  take  an  umbrella,  until  he  was  near 
having  his  tail  shut  in. 

His  friendship  was  constant  rather  than  demon- 
strative. When  we  returned  from  an  absence  of 
nearly  two  years,  Calvin  welcomed  us  with  evident 
pleasure,  but  showed  his  satisfaction  rather  by 
tranquil  happiness  than  by  fuming  about.  He 
had  the  faculty  of  making  us  glad  to  get  home. 
It  was  his  constancy  that  was  so  attractive.  He 
liked  companionship,  but  he  wouldn't  be  petted,  or 
fussed  over,  or  sit  in  any  one's  lap  a  moment;  he 
always  extricated  himself  from  such  familiarity 
with  dignity,  and  with  no  show  of  temper.  If 
there  was  any  petting  to  be  done,  however,  he 
chose  to  do  it.  Often  he  would  sit  looking  at  me, 
and  then,  moved  by  a  delicate  affection,  come  and 
pull  at  my  coat  and  sleeve  until  he  could  touch 
my  face  with  his  nose,  and  then  go  away  contented. 
He  had  a  habit  of  coming  to  my  study  in  the 
morning,  sitting  quietly  by  my  side  or  on  the  table 
for  hours,  watching  the  pen  run  over  the  paper, 
occasionally  swinging  his  tail  round  for  a  blotter, 
and  then  going  to  sleep  among  the  papers  by  the 
inkstand.  Or,  more  rarely,  he  would  watch  the 
writing  from  a  perch  on  my  shoulder.  Writing 
106 


THE   CAT= 


always  interested  him,  and,  until  he  understood  it, 
he  wanted  to  hold  the  pen. 

He  always  held  himself  in  a  kind  of  reserve  with 
his  friend,  as  if  he  had  said,  "  Let  us  respect  our 
personality,  and  not  make  a  *  mess  '  of  friendship." 
He  saw,  with  Emerson,  the  risk  of  degrading  it  to 
trivial  conveniency.  "  Why  insist  on  rash  per- 
sonal relations  with  your  friend?  Leave  this 
touching  and  clawing.''  Yet  I  would  not  give  an 
unfair  notion  of  his  aloofness,  his  fine  sense  of  the 
sacredness  of  the  me  and  the  not-me.  And,  at 
the  risk  of  not  being  believed,  I  will  relate  an  inci- 
dent which  was  often  repeated.  Calvin  had  the 
practice  of  passing  a  portion  of  the  night  in  the 
contemplation  of  its  beauties,  and  would  come  into 
our  chamber  over  the  roof  of  the  conservatory 
through  the  open  window,  summer  and  winter,  and 
go  to  sleep  on  the  foot  of  my  bed.  He  would  do 
this  always  exactly  in  the  same  way ;  he  never  was 
content  to  stay  in  the  chamber  if  we  compelled  him 
to  go  upstairs  and  through  the  door.  He  had  the 
obstinacy  of  General  Grant.  In  the  morning,  he 
performed  his  toilet,  and  went  down  to  breakfast 
with  the  rest  of  the  family.  Now,  when  the  mis- 
tress was  absent  from  home,  and  at  no  other  time, 
Calvin  would  come  in  the  morning,  when  the  bell 
rang,  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  put  up  his  forepaws 
107 


THE    CAT 


and  look  into  my  face,  follow  me  about  when  I 
rose,  "  assist "  at  the  dressing,  and  in  many  purr- 
ing ways  show  his  fondness,  as  if  he  had  plainly 
said,  "  I  know  that  she  has  gone  away,  but  I  am 
here."     Such  was  Calvin  in  rare  moments. 

Charles  Dudley  Warner. 


108 


THE    CAT" 


Corporation  Cats 

Cats  are  the  only  animals  which  are  ever  really 
owned  by  clubs  and  corporations.  A  dog,  if  it 
nominally  belongs  to  a  company  of  men,  is  really 
the  property  of  some  individual  man.  It  must 
have  a  master.  A  cat,  being  always  its  own  mas- 
ter, lives  happily  under  a  corporate  body.  Some 
of  the  lordliest  and  most  self-satisfied  beasts  I  have 
ever  known  were  club  and  college  cats.  A  cat  be- 
longing to  one  of  the  London  dock  companies  was 
almost  ridiculous  (if  a  cat  could  be  ridiculous) 
from  the  airs  of  possession  and  self-importance 
which  it  assumed  in  regard  to  the  company's  vaults. 
Sir  Frederick  Pollock  has  shown  us,  in  the  "  Senior 
Fellow,"  to  what  a  pitch  of  dignity  a  college  cat 
may  rise  when  it  is  once  on  the  foundation  of  a 
learned  society. 

The  Spectator, 


109 


THE    CAT 


Tom  of  Corpus 

The  Junior  Fellow's  vows  were  said; 
Among  his  co-mates  and  their  Head 

His  place  was  fairly  set. 
Of  welcome  from  friends  old  and  new 
Full  dues  he  had,  and  more  than  due ; 

What  could  be  lacking  yet? 

One  said,  "  The  Senior  Fellow's  vote!  " 
The  Senior  Fellow,  black  of  coat, 

Save  where  his  front  was  white, 
Arose  and  sniffed  the  stranger's  shoes 
With  critic  nose,  as  ancients  use 

To  judge  mankind  aright. 

I  —  for  'twas  I  who  tell  the  tale  — 
Conscious  of  fortune's  trembling  scale, 

Awaited  the  decree; 
But  Tom  had  judged:     "He  loves  our  race; 
And,  as  to  his  ancestral  place, 

He  leapt  upon  my  knee. 

Thenceforth  in  common-room  and  hall, 
A  verus  socius  known  to  all, 

I  came  and  went  and  sat, 
Far  from  cross  fate  or  envy's  reach, 
For  none  a  title  could  impeach, 

Accepted  by  the  cat. 
110 


THE    CAT= 


While  statutes  changed,  and  freshmen  came, 
His  gait,  his  wisdom  were  the  same, 

His  age  no  more  than  mellow; 
Yet  nothing  mortal  may  defy 
The  march  of  Anno  Domini, 

Not  e'en  the  Senior  Fellow. 

Beneath  our  linden  shade  he  lies; 
Mere  eld  hath  softly  closed  his  eyes 

With  late  and  honoured  end. 
He  seems,  while  catless  we  confer, 
To  join  with  faint  Elysian  purr, 

A  tutelary  friend. 

Sir  Frederick  Pollock. 


Ill 


THE    CAT 


Oliver 

A  long  series  of  cats  has  reigned  over  my 
household  for  the  last  forty  years  or  thereabouts. 
The  present  occupant  of  the  throne  is  a  large, 
young,  grey  Tabby, —  Oliver  by  name.  Not  that 
he  is  in  any  sense  a  Protector,  for  I  doubt  whether 
he  has  the  heart  to  kill  a  mouse.  However,  I  saw 
him  catch  and  eat  the  first  butterfly  of  the  season, 
and  trust  that  the  germ  of  courage,  thus  mani- 
fested, may  develop  with  age  into  efficient  mousing. 

As  to  sagacity,  I  should  say  that  his  judgment 
respecting  the  warmest  place  and  the  softest 
cushion  in  a  room  is  infallible,  his  punctuality  at 
meal  times  is  admirable,  and  his  pertinacity  in 
jumping  on  people's  shoulders  till  they  give  him 
some  of  the  best  of  what  is  going,  indicates  great 
firmness. 

Thomas  Huxley  to  Mr.  J.  G.  Kitton. 


112 


THE    CAT= 


Oliver 


I  wish  you  would  write  seriously  to  M . 

She  is  not  behaving  well  to  Oliver.  I  have  seen 
handsomer  kittens,  but  few  more  lively  and  ener- 
getically destructive.     Just  now  he  scratched  away 

at   something  that  M says   cost   13s.   6d.   a 

yard,  and  reduced  more  or  less  of  it  to  combings. 

M therefore  excludes  him  from  the  dining- 
room,  and  from  all  those  opportunities  of  higher 
education  which  he  would  naturally  have  in  my 
house. 

I  have  argued  that  it  is  as  immoral  to  place  13s. 
6d.  a  yardnesses  within  reach  of  kittens  as  to  hang 
bracelets  and  diamond  rings  in  the  front  garden. 
But  in  vain.  Oliver  is  banished,  and  the  protector 
(not  Oliver)  is  sat  upon.  In  truth  and  justice 
aid  your  Pa. 

Thomas  Huxley  to  his  youngest  daughter. 


113 


=THE    CAT 


Mentu 

The  wild  nature  in  Mentu  is  as  strong  as  his 
inbred  civilization;  and  the  two  are  at  strife  to- 
gether. His  heart  and  his  appetite  lead  him  back 
and  back  to  the  house;  keep  him  there  for  days 
together,  a  dainty  fine  gentleman,  warm-hearted, 
capricious.  But  the  spirit  of  the  wild  creature 
rises  in  him,  and  the  night  comes  when,  at  bedtime, 
no  Mentu  is  waiting  at  the  door  to  be  let  in;  or 
in  the  evening,  as  he  hears  the  wind  rise  and  stir 
the  branches,  even  while  the  rain  beats  on  the 
window  pane,  the  compelling  power  of  out-of-doors 
is  on  him,  and  he  must  go ;  and  when  the  window 
is  lifted,  and  the  night  air  streams  in,  there  is  but 
one  leap  into  the  darkness. 

He  will  return  early  in  the  morning,  tired  and 
satiate,  or  spring  in  some  evening  as  the  dusk 
gathers,  with  gleaming  eyes  where  the  light  of 
the  wild  woods  flickers  and  dies  down  in  the  com- 
fortable firelight  of  an  English  home. 

This  is  the  true  cat,  the  real  Mentu,  this  wild 
creature  who  must  go  on  his  mysterious  errands; 
or  who,  I  rather  believe  it,  plunges  out  to  revel  in 
the  intoxication  of  innumerable  scents,  unaccounted 
sounds,  and  the  half -revealed  forms  of  wood  and 
field  in  twilight,  in  darkness,  or  in  dawn.     In  his 

114 


THE    CAT: 


soul  he  is  a  dramatist,  an  artist  in  sensation.  He 
lives  with  human  beings,  he  loves  them,  as  we  live 
with  children  and  love  them,  and  play  their  games. 
But  the  great  world  calls  us,  and  we  must  go ;  and 
Mentu's  business  in  life  is  elsewhere.  He  lives 
in  the  half-lights,  in  secret  places,  free  and  alone, — 
this  mysterious  little-great  being  whom  his  mistress 
calls  "  My  cat." 

The  Soul  of  a  Cat 

Margaret  Benson. 


115 


The  Shah  of  Persia 


-THE    CAT 


Cats  of  his  perfect  beauty,  of  his  perfect  grace, 
possibly  might  be  found,  Madame  Jolicoeur  grudg- 
ingly admitted,  in  the  Persian  royal  catteries ;  but 
nowhere  else  in  the  Orient,  and  nowhere  at  all  in 
the  Occident,  she  declared  with  an  energetic  con- 
viction, possibly  could  there  be  a  cat  who  even  ap- 
proached him  in  intellectual  development,  in  wealth 
of  interesting  accomplishments,  and,  above  all,  in 
natural  sweetness  of  disposition, —  a  sweetness  so 
marked  that  even  under  extreme  provocation  he 
never  had  been  known  to  thrust  out  an  angry  paw. 
This  is  not  to  say  that  the  Shah  de  Perse  was  a 
characterless  cat,  a  lymphatic  nonentity.  On  oc- 
casions —  usually  in  connection  with  food  that  was 
distasteful  to  him  —  he  could  have  his  resentments ; 
but  they  were  manifested  always  with  a  dignified 
restraint.  His  nearest  approach  to  ill-mannered 
abruptness  was  to  bat  with  a  contemptuous  paw  the 
offending  morsel  from  his  plate ;  which  brusque  act 
he  followed  by  fixing  upon  the  bestower  of  un- 
worthy food  a  coldly,  but  always  politely  contemp- 
tuous stare.  Ordinarily,  however,  his  displeasure 
was  exhibited  by  no  more  overt  action  than  his  re- 
tirement to  a  corner, —  he  had  his  choice  in  corners, 
governed  by  the  intensity   of  his  feelings, —  and 

116 


THE    CAT 


there  seating  himself  with  his  back  turned  scorn- 
fully to  an  offending  world.  Even  in  his  kindliest 
corner,  on  such  occasions,  the  expression  of  his 
scornful  back  was  as  a  whole  volume  of  winged 
words. 

But  the  rare  little  cat  tantrums  of  the  Shah  de 
Perse  —  if  to  his  so  gentle  excesses  may  be  applied 
so  strong  a  term  —  were  but  as  sun-spots  on  the 
effulgence  of  his  otherwise  constant  amiability. 
The  regnant  desires  by  which  his  worthy  little  life 
was  governed  were  to  love  and  to  please.  He  was 
the  most  cuddlesome  cat,  Madame  Jolicoeur  un- 
hesitatingly asserted,  that  ever  had  lived;  and  he 
had  a  purr  —  softly  thunderous  and  winningly  af- 
fectionate—  that  was  in  keeping  with  his  cuddle- 
some  ways.  When,  of  his  own  volition,  he  would 
jump  into  her  abundant  lap,  and  go  burrowing  with 
his  soft  little  round  head  beneath  her  soft  round 
elbows,  the  while  gurglingly  purring  forth  his  love 
for  her,  Madame  Jolicoeur,  quite  justifiably,  at 
times  was  moved  to  tears.  Equally  was  his  sweet 
nature  exhibited  in  his  always  eager  willingness  to 
show  off  his  little  train  of  cat  accomplishments. 
He  would  give  his  paw  with  a  courteous  grace  to 
any  lady  or  gentleman  —  he  drew  the  caste  line 
rigidly  —  who  asked  for  it.  For  his  mistress,  he 
would  spring  to  a  considerable  height,  and  clutch 
117 


THE    CAT 


with  his  two  soft  paws  —  never  by  any  mistake 
scratching  —  her  outstretched  wrist ;  and  so  would 
remain  suspended  while  he  delicately  nibbled  from 
between  her  fingers  her  edible  offering.  For  her, 
he  would  make  an  almost  painfully  real  pretence 
of  being  a  dead  cat ;  extending  liimself  upon  the 
rug  with  an  exaggeratedly  death-like  rigidity, — ■ 
and  so  remaining  until  her  command  to  be  alive 
again  brought  him  briskly  to  rub  himself,  rising 
on  his  hind  legs  and  purring  mellowly,  against  her 
comfortable  knee. 

Madame  Jolicoeur's  Cat. 

Thomas  A.  Janviee. 


118 


THE    CAT= 


Peter;  an  Elegy 

In  vain  the  kindly  call,  in  vain 

The  plate  for  which  thou  once  wast  fain, 

At  morn,  and  noon,  and  daylight's  wane, 

O  King  of  mousers ! 
No  more  I  hear  thee  purr  and  purr, 
As  in  the  frolic  days  that  were, 
When  thou  didst  rub  thy  velvet  fur 

Against  my  trousers. 

How  empty  are  the  places  where 
Thou  erst  wert  frankly  debonair, 
Nor  dreamed  a  dream  of  feline  care, 

A  capering  kitten. 
The  sunny  haunts  where,  grown  a  cat, 
You  pondered  this,  considered  that, 
The  cushioned  chair,  the  rug,  the  mat, 

By  firelight  smitten. 

Although  of  few  you  stood  in  dread, 
How  well  you  knew  a  friendly  tread, 
And  what  upon  your  back  and  head 
The  stroking  hand  meant. 


119 


THE    CAT 


A  passing  scent  could  keenly  wake 
Thy  eagerness  for  chop  or  steak, 
Yet,  Puss,  how  rarely  didst  thou  break 
The  eighth  commandment. 

Though  brief  thy  life,  a  little  span 
Of  days  compared  with  that  of  man, 
The  time  allotted  to  thee  ran 

In  smoother  metre. 
Now,  with  the  warm  earth  o'er  thy  breast, 
O  wisest  of  thy  kind,  and  best, 
Forever  mayst  thou  softly  rest, 

In  pace,  Peter. 

Clinton  Scollard. 


120 


THE    CAT= 


Peace  and  War 

The  strong  enmity  which  exists  between  my 
otherwise  gentle  and  amiable  cats  is  not  unknown 
to  you.  When  you  left  us,  the  result  of  many  a 
fierce  conflict  was  that  Hurley  remained  master 
of  the  green  and  garden,  Rumpel  always  retiring, 
upon  the  appearance  of  his  victorious  enemy,  into 
the  house,  as  to  a  citadel  or  sanctuary.  The  con- 
queror was  perhaps  indebted  for  this  superiority 
to  his  hardier  habits,  living  always  in  the  open 
air,  and  providing  for  himself;  while  Rumpel  (who, 
though  born  under  a  bailiff's  roof,  was,  neverthe- 
less, kittened  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his  mouth) 
passes  his  hours  in  luxurious  repose  beside  the 
fire,  and  looks  for  his  meals  as  punctually  as  any 
two-legged  member  of  the  family. 

Some  weeks  ago  Hurlyburlybuss  was  manifestly 
emaciated  and  enfeebled  by  ill-health,  and  Rumpel- 
stilzchen  with  great  magnanimity  made  overtures 
of  peace.  The  whole  progress  of  the  treaty  was 
seen  from  the  parlour  window; — the  caution  with 
which  Rumpel  made  his  advances,  the  sullen 
dignity  with  which  they  were  received,  their  mutual 
uneasiness  when  Rumpel,  after  a  slow  and  wary 
approach,  seated  himself  whisker-to-whisker  by  his 
121 


=THE   CAT 


rival,  the  mutual  fear  which  restrained,  not  only 
teeth  and  claws,  but  even  all  tones  of  defiance, 
the  mutual  agitation  of  their  tails,  and  lastly  the 
manner  in  which  Hurley  retreated,  like  Ajax,  still 
keeping  his  face  towards  his  old  antagonist.  The 
overture,  I  fear,  was  not  received  as  generously  as 
it  was  made ;  for  no  sooner  had  Hurlyburlybuss  re- 
covered strength  than  hostilities  were  recommenced 
with  greater  violence  than  ever;  Rumpel,  who  had 
not  abused  his  superiority  when  he  possessed  it, 
having  acquired  meantime  a  confidence  which  made 
him  keep  the  field. 

Dreadful  were  the  combats  which  ensued,  as 
their  ears,  faces  and  legs  bear  witness.  We  are 
often  obliged  to  interfere  and  separate  them.  Oh, 
it  is  awful  to  hear  the  note  with  which  they  prelude 
their  encounters.  The  long,  low  growl  slowly  rises 
and  swells  until  it  becomes  a  yowl,  and  then  it  is 
snapped  short  by  a  sound  which  seems  as  though 
they  were  spitting  fire  and  venom  at  each  other. 
All  means  of  reconciling  them,  and  making  them 
understand  how  goodly  a  thing  it  is  for  cats  to  dwell 
together  in  peace,  are  in  vain.  The  proceedings 
of  the  Society  for  the  Abolishment  of  War  are 
not  more  utterly  ineffectual  and  hopeless. 

Memoir  of  the  Cats  of  Greta  Hall. 

Robert  Southey. 
122 


THE   CAT- 


The  Freebooter 


Cats  I  scorn,  who,  sleek  and  fat, 
Shiver  at  a  Norway  rat. 
Rough  and  hardy,  bold  and  free, 
Be  the  cat  that's  made  for  me ; 
He  whose  nervous  paw  can  take 
My  lady's  lapdog  by  the  neck; 
With  furious  hiss  attack  the  hen, 
And  snatch  a  chicken  from  the  pen. 

Dr.  Erasmus  Darwin. 


123 


mdRmuko  Apeak 
concern  in  a  /Cab 
InmiiiarUu  and  a  fimtu 

mod  didabi 
^jNiifkeuJangi 


THE    CAT 


Sad  Memories 

They  tell  me  I  am  beautiful,  they  praise  my  silken 

hair, 
My  little  feet  that  silently  slip  on  from  stair  to  stair ; 
They  praise  my  pretty,  trustful  face,  and  innocent 

grey  eye; 
Fond  hands  caress  me  oftentimes, —  yet  would  that  I 

might  die ! 

Why  was  I  born  to  be  abhorr'd  of  man,  and  bird,  and 

beast  ? 
The  bulfinch  marks  me  stealing  by,  and  straight  his 

song  hath  ceased; 
The   shrewmouse   eyes  me   shudderingly,   then   flees; 

and,  worse  than  that, 
The  house-dog  he  flees  after  me, —  why  was  I  born  a 

cat? 

Men  prize  the  heartless  hound  who  quits  dry-eyed  his 

native  land, 
Who  wags  a  mercenary  tail,  and  licks  a  tyrant  hand. 
The  leal  true  cat  they  prize  not,  that,  if  e'er  compelTd 

to  roam, 
Still  flies,  when  let  out  of  the  bag,  precipitately  home. 

They  call  me  cruel.     Do  I  know  if  mouse  or  song- 
bird feels? 

in 


=THE    CAT 


I  only  know  they  make  me  light  and  salutary  meals ; 
And  if  —  as  'tis  my  nature  to  —  ere  I  devour,  I  tease 

'em, 
Why  should  a  low-bred  gardener's  boy  pursue  me  with 

a  besom? 

Should  china  fall,  or  chandeliers,  or  anything  but 
stocks, — 

Nay,  stocks  when  they're  in  flower-pots,  the  cat  ex- 
pects hard  knocks; 

Should  ever  anything  be  missed, —  milk,  coals,  um- 
brellas, brandy, 

The  cat's  pitched  into  with  a  boot,  or  anything  that's 
handy. 

"  I  remember,  I  remember,"  how  one  night  I  "  fleeted 

by," 

And  gain'd  the  blessed  tiles,  and  gazed  into  the  cold, 

clear  sky. 
"  I    remember,    I    remember,    how    my    little    lovers 

came," 
And  there,  beneath  the  crescent  moon,  play'd  many  a 

little  game. 

They  fought!  by  good  St.  Catherine,  'twas  a  fearful 
sight  to  see 

The  coal-black  crest,  the  glowering  orbs,  of  one  gi- 
gantic He. 

128 


THE    CAT: 


Like  bow  by  some  tall  bowman  bent  at  Hastings  or 

Poictiers, 
His  huge  back  curved  till  none  observed  a  vestige  of 

his  ears. 

He  stood,  an  ebon  crescent,  flouting  that  ivory  moon, 
Then  raised  the  pibroch  of  his  race,  the  Song  without 

a  Tune; 
Gleam'd   his   white   teeth,   his   mammoth   tail   waved 

darkly  to  and  fro, 
As  with  one  complex  yell  he  burst,  all  claws,  upon 

the  foe. 

It  thrills  me  now,  that  final  Miaow,  that  weird,  un- 
earthly din; 

Lone  maidens  heard  it  far  away,  and  leap'd  out  of 
their  skin; 

A  pot-boy  from  his  den  o'erhead  peep'd  with  a  scared, 
wan  face, 

Then  sent  a  random  brickbat  down,  which  knock'd 
me  into  space. 

Nine  days  I  fell, —  or  thereabouts, —  and,  had  we  not 

nine  lives, 
I  wis  I  ne'er  had  seen  again  thy  sausage-shop,  St. 

Ives! 
Had  I,  as  some  cats  have,  nine  tails,  how  gladly  I 

would  lick 

129 


THE    CAT 


The  hand,  and  person  generally,  of  him  who  heaved 
that  brick! 

For  me  they  fill  the  milk-bowl  up,  and  cull  the  choice 

sardine ; 
But  ah !  I  nevermore  shall  be  the  cat  I  once  have  been ! 
The  memories  of  that  fatal  night  they  haunt  me  even 

now; 
In  dreams  I  see  that  rampant  He,  and  tremble  at  that 

Miaow. 

Charles  Stuart  Calverley. 


130 


THE    CAT: 


The  Young  Man  and  His  Cat 

A  young  man  owned  a  cat  with  which  he  was 
wont  to  sport,  and  which  he  greatly  loved.  Day 
and  night  he  prayed  to  Venus,  that  she  would  show 
favour  to  him  and  to  his  cherished  pet.  The  kindly 
goddess  heard  his  prayer,  and  changed  the  cat  into 
the  most  beautiful  of  maidens,  whom  the  youth 
married  that  very  day.  But  alas!  even  on  their 
wedding  night,  when  the  bride  lay  clasped  in  her 
husband's  arms,  she  heard  a  mouse  scamper  across 
the  room,  and  leaped  lightly  from  her  bed  to  pur- 
sue it.  Venus,  angry  at  this  profanation  of  wife- 
hood, and  perceiving  that,  however  altered  in  form, 
a  cat  remains  a  cat  at  heart,  changed  her  back  into 
a  beast,  in  order  that  soul  and  body  might  be  in 
conformity. 

M sop's  Fables. 


131 


=THE    CAT 


The  Ratcatcher  and  Cats 

The  rats  by  night  such  mischief  did, 

Betty  was  every  morning  chid. 

They  undermined  whole  sides  of  bacon, 

Her  cheese  was  sapped,  her  tarts  were  taken; 

Her  pasties,  fenced  with  thickest  paste, 

Were  all  demolished  and  laid  waste. 

She  cursed  the  Cat  for  want  of  duty, 

Who  left  her  foes  a  constant  booty. 

An  engineer  of  noted  skill 
Engaged  to  stop  the  growing  ill; 
From  room  to  room  he  now  surveys 
Their  haunts,  their  works,  their  secret  ways ; 
Finds  where  they  scape  an  ambuscade, 
And  whence  the  nightly  sally's  made. 
An  envious  Cat  from  place  to  place, 
Unseen,  attends  his  silent  pace. 
She  saw  that,  if  his  trade  went  on, 
The  purring  race  must  be  undone ; 
So  secretly  removes  his  baits, 
And  every  stratagem  defeats. 

Again  he  sets  the  poisoned  toils, 
And  Puss  again  the  labour  foils. 
"  What  foe  (to  frustrate  my  designs) 
My  schemes  thus  nightly  countermines  ?  " 
Incensed  he  cries ;  "  this  very  hour 
The  wretch  shall  bleed  beneath  my  power." 
132 


THE    CA^ 


So  said, —  a  ponderous  trap  he  brought, 
And  in  the  fact  poor  Puss  was  caught. 

"  Smuggler/'  says  he,  "  thou  shalt  be  made 

A  victim  to  our  loss  of  trade." 


The  captive  Cat,  with  piteous  mews, 
For  pardon,  life,  and  freedom  sues. 
"  A  sister  of  the  science  spare ! 
One  interest  is  our  common  care." 
"  What  insolence !  "  the  Man  replied ; 
"  Shall  Cats  with  us  the  game  divide? 
Were  all  your  interloping  band 
Extinguished,  or  expelled  the  land, 
We  Rat-catchers  might  raise  our  fees, 
Sole  guardians  of  a  nation's  cheese !  " 


A  Cat  who  saw  the  lifted  knife, 
Thus  spoke,  and  saved  her  sister's  life: 
"  In  every  age  and  clime,  we  see 
Two  of  a  trade  can  ne'er  agree; 
Each  hates  his  neighbour  for  encroaching, 
Squire  stigmatizes  squire  for  poaching ; 
Beauties  with  beauties  are  in  arms, 
And  scandal  pelts  each  other's  charms; 
Kings,  too,  their  neighbour  kings  dethrone. 
In  hope  to  make  the  world  their  own. 
133 


THE    CAT 


But  let  us  limit  our  desires, 
Nor  war  like  beauties,  kings,  and  squires ; 
For,  though  we  both  one  prey  pursue, 
There's  game  enough  for  us  and  you." 

John  Gay. 


134 


THE    CAT; 


A  Captain's  Kitten 

A  most  tragical  incident  fell  out  this  day  at 
sea.  While  the  ship  was  under  sail,  but  making, 
as  will  appear,  no  great  way,  a  kitten,  one  of  the 
four  feline  inhabitants  of  the  cabin,  fell  from  the 
window  into  the  water.  An  alarm  was  immediately 
given  to  the  captain,  who  was  then  upon  deck, 
and  who  received  it  with  many  bitter  oaths.  He 
immediately  gave  orders  to  the  steersman  in  favour 
of  the  poor  thing,  as  he  called  it;  the  sails  were 
instantly  slackened,  and  all  hands  employed  to  re- 
cover the  animal.  I  was,  I  own,  surprised  at  this ; 
less,  indeed,  at  the  captain's  extreme  tenderness, 
than  at  his  conceiving  any  possibility  of  success; 
for  if  Puss  had  had  nine  thousand  instead  of  nine 
lives,  I  concluded  they  had  all  been  lost.  The 
boatswain,  however,  was  more  sanguine;  for  hav- 
ing, stripped  himself  of  his  jacket,  breeches,  and 
shirt,  he  leaped  boldly  into  the  water,  and,  to  my 
great  astonishment,  in  a  few  minutes  returned  to 
the  ship,  bearing  the  motionless  animal  in  his 
mouth.  Nor  was  this,  I  observed,  a  matter  of  such 
great  difficulty  as  it  appeared  to  my  ignorance,  and 
possibly  may  seem  to  that  of  my  fresh-water 
reader.  The  kitten  was  now  exposed  to  air  and  sun 
on  the  deck,  where  its  life,  of  which  it  retained  no 
symptoms,  was  despaired  of  by  all. 
135 


THE    CAT 


The  captain's  humanity  did  not  so  totally  de- 
stroy his  philosophy  as  to  make  him  yield  himself 
up  to  affliction.  Having  felt  his  loss  like  a  man, 
he  resolved  to  show  he  could  bear  it  like  one ;  and, 
after  declaring  he  had  rather  have  lost  a  cask  of 
rum  or  brandy,  he  betook  himself  to  threshing  at 
backgammon  with  the  Portuguese  friar,  in  which 
innocent  amusement  they  passed  their  leisure 
hours. 

Journal  of  a  Voyage  to  Lisbon 

Henry  Fielding. 


136 


THE    CAT: 


A  Sailor 


A  ship  cat  loves  its  home  as  unswervingly  as  does 
the  happier  animal  whose  lot  is  cast  amid  gardens 
and  moonlit  walls.  To  the  landsman's  prejudiced 
eye  there  is  little  choice  in  boats,  especially  in  the 
dismal  and  dirty  cargo  boats  "  that  sail  the  wet  seas 
roun'."  They  may  be  "  England's  pride,"  but,  as 
permanent  habitations,  they  seem  to  lack  every- 
thing that  would  appeal  to  the  refined  instincts  and 
restless  habits  of  a  cat.  Yet  Pussy  is  as  faithful 
to  her  "  hollow  oak  "  as  poets  have  ever  pretended 
to  be,  and  will  not  barter  its  manifold  discomforts 
for  the  pleasant  firesides  of  earth.  A  very  beauti- 
ful cat,  carried  in  infancy  from  some  remote  vil- 
lage in  the  Apennines,  was  given  as  a  mascot  to 
the  Italian  captain  of  an  oil-tank  steamer  which 
ran  between  Savona  and  Point  Breeze,  Philadelphia. 
In  the  course  of  time  she  presented  the  ship  with 
a  family  of  kittens,  who  were  less  than  a  month 
old  when  the  Philadelphia  docks  were  reached. 
Like  other  sailors,  Pussy  indulged  in  some  irregu- 
larities while  on  shore;  and,  as  the  result  of  pro- 
longed dissipation,  she  was  found  to  be  missing  when 
the  Bayonne  was  loaded,  and  ready  to  depart. 
Search  was  made  in  vain  about  the  wharves;  and 
Captain  Hugo  was  compelled,  not  only  to  sail 
137 


THE    CAT 


without  his  mascot,  but  to  assume  the  responsibility 
for  her  abandoned  infants. 

Two  days  later  the  prodigal  came  back.  Another 
and  a  larger  boat  filled  the  Bayonne's  place.  Re- 
pentant and  dismayed,  she  visited  every  steamer  in 
the  docks;  then,  convinced  that  her  indiscretions 
had  made  her  both  homeless  and  kittenless,  she 
took  up  her  quarters  in  a  watch-box,  and  patiently 
awaited  Captain  Hugo's  return.  Week  followed 
week;  scores  of  barks  arrived,  and  were  each  in 
turn  anxiously  inspected;  and  still,  undiscouraged 
by  repeated  disappointments,  she  bravely  kept  her 
post.  At  last  the  Bayonne  was  sighted,  and  there 
was  no  need  this  time  to  hunt  for  the  cat.  There 
she  stood,  quivering  with  agitation,  on  the  extreme 
edge  of  the  wharf,  as  the  malodorous  little  craft 
plied  its  way  along  the  river.  The  captain's  big 
black  dog,  Pussy's  old  friend  and  companion, 
barked  his  furious  welcome  from  the  deck.  The 
sound  increased  her  excitement,  and,  when  the 
steamer  was  still  twelve  feet  from  the  docks,  she 
cleared  with  flying  leap  the  intervening  space,  and, 
mid  the  cheers  of  the  crew,  ran  straight  to  the 
captain's  cabin  where  she  had  left  her  kittens  three 
months  before.  They  were  well-grown  young  cats 
by  this  time,  and  disposed  to  resent  her  intrusion ; 


138 


THE    CAT: 


but  the  mother's  joy  was  as  excessive  as  if  she  had 
been  parted  from  them  for  but  a  single  night. 

The  Fireside  Sphinx 

Agnes  Reppliee. 


139 


THE    CAT 


The  Point  of  View 

"  Dog,"  said  the  Cat  to  a  little  fat  spaniel  coiled 
up  on  a  rug,  like  a  lady's  muff  with  a  head  and  tail 
stuck  on  to  it ;  "  Dog,  what  do  you  make  of  it  all  ?  " 

The  Dog  opened  his  languid  eyes,  looked  sleepily 
at  the  Cat  for  a  moment,  and  dropped  them  again. 

"  Dog,"  said  the  Cat,  "  I  want  to  talk  to  you ; 
don't  go  to  sleep.  Can't  you  answer  a  civil  ques- 
tion? " 

"  Don't  bother  me,"  said  the  Dog.  "  I  am  tired. 
I  stood  on  my  hind  legs  ten  minutes  this  morning 
before  I  could  get  my  breakfast,  and  it  hasn't 
agreed  with  me." 

"  Who  told  you  to  do  it?  "  said  the  Cat. 

"  Why,  the  lady  I  have  to  take  care  of  me," 
replied  the  Dog. 

"  Do  you  feel  any  better  for  it,  Dog,  after  you 
have  been  standing  on  your  hind  legs  ?  " 

"  Haven't  I  told  you,  you  stupid  Cat,  that  it 
hasn't  agreed  with  me?  Let  me  go  to  sleep,  and 
don't  plague  me." 

"  But  I  mean,"  persisted  the  Cat,  "  do  you  feel 
improved,  as  human  beings  call  it  ?  They  tell  their 
children  that  if  they  will  do  what  they  are  told, 
they  will  improve,  and  grow  good  and  great.  Do 
you  feel  good  and  great?  " 

140 


THE    CAT: 


"  How  do  I  know?  "  said  the  Dog.  "  I  eat  my 
breakfast,  and  am  content.     Let  me  alone !  " 

"  Do  you  never  think,  O  Dog  without  a  soul ! 
Do  you  never  wonder  what  dogs  are,  and  what  this 
world  is?  " 

The  Dog  stretched  himself,  and  rolled  his  eyes 
lazily  around  the  room.  "  I  conceive,"  he  said, 
"  that  the  world  is  for  dogs,  and  that  men  and 
women  are  put  into  it  to  take  care  of  dogs ;  women 
to  take  care  of  little  dogs  like  me,  and  men  for  the 
big  dogs  like  those  in  the  yard.  And  cats,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  are  to  know  their  place,  and  not  be 
troublesome." 

"  There  may  be  truth  in  what  you  say,"  said  the 
Cat  calmly ;  "  but  I  think  your  view  is  limited.  If 
you  listened,  as  I  do,  you  would  hear  men  say  the 
world  was  made  for  them." 

The  Cat's  Pilgrimage 

James  Anthony  Froude. 


141 


THE   CAT 


An  Encounter 

One  day  a  friend,  who  was  going  away  for  a 
few  weeks,  left  his  parrot  in  our  care.  The  bird, 
homesick  and  unquiet,  climbed  to  the  top  of  his 
perch,  and  rolled  his  golden  eyes  warily,  wrinkling 
the  white  membrane  which  served  for  eyelids.  My 
cat,  Madame  Theophile,  had  never  before  seen  a 
parrot,  and  this  strange  creature  filled  her  with 
amazement.  Motionless  as  a  cat  mummy  in  its 
swathing  bands,  she  fixed  a  profoundly  meditative 
gaze  upon  the  stranger,  summoning  to  her  aid  all 
the  notions  of  natural  history  which  she  had  picked 
up  on  the  roofs  and  in  the  garden.  The  shadow  of 
her  thoughts  passed  over  her  changing  eyes,  and  we 
could  read  in  them  the  results  of  her  scrutiny: 
"  Decidedly  it  is  a  green  chicken." 

This  much  ascertained,  the  cat  leaped  from  the 
table  which  she  had  made  her  observatory,  and 
crouched  low  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  flattening 
herself  on  the  ground,  like  Gerome's  black  panther 
which  watches  the  gazelles  coming  down  to  drink 
from  the  lake.  The  parrot  followed  her  move- 
ments with  feverish  anxiety.  He  ruffled  his  feath- 
ers, shook  his  chain,  raised  one  claw  after  another, 
and  whetted  his  beak  on  the  side  of  his  drinking 
cup.     Instinct  told  him  that  here  was  an  enemy 

142 


THE   CAT= 


plotting  mischief.  The  cat's  eyes  were  all  this 
time  fixed  upon  the  bird  with  terrible  intensity,  and 
they  said  in  a  language  which  the  poor  parrot  but 
too  plainly  understood :  "  Green  though  it  be, 
this  chicken  is  doubtless  very  good  to  eat." 

We  watched  the  little  drama  with  interest,  ready 
to  intervene  at  need.  Madame  Theophile  crept 
slowly,  almost  imperceptibly,  forward.  Her  pink 
nose  quivered,  her  eyes  were  half  closed,  her  claws 
moved  in  and  out  of  their  soft  sheaths,  little  tre- 
mors of  rapture  ran  along  her  spine.  She  was  like 
an  epicure  sitting  down  to  a  chicken  and  truffles. 
Such  novel  and  exotic  fare  tempted  her  gluttony. 

Suddenly  her  back  bent  like  a  bow,  and  with  a 
vigorous  spring  she  leaped  upon  the  perch.  The 
parrot,  seeing  the  imminence  of  his  peril,  cried  in 
a  voice  as  deep  and  vibrating  as  M.  Prudhomme's : 
"  Hast  thou  breakfasted,  Jaequot  ?  " 

This  utterance  so  terrified  the  cat  that  she  fell 
backwards.  The  blare  of  a  trumpet,  the  crash  of 
crockery,  the  report  of  a  pistol  could  not  have 
made  her  more  dizzy  with  fright.  All  her  ornitho- 
logical theories  were  overthrown. 

"  And  on  what  ?  On  the  king's  roast  ?  "  con- 
tinued the  parrot. 

Then  we,  the  observers,  read  in  the  expressive 
countenance  of  Madame  Theophile :  "  This  is  not 
a  bird ;  it  speaks ;  it  is  a  gentleman." 

Menagerie  Intime,  Theophile  Gautiee. 
143 


The  Retired  Cat 

A  poet's  cat,  sedate  and  grave 

As  poet  well  could  wish  to  have, 

Was  much  addicted  to  inquire 

For  nooks  to  which  she  might  retire, 

And  where,  secure  as  mouse  in  chink, 

She  might  repose,  or  sit  and  think. 

I  know  not  where  she  caught  the  trick, — 

Nature  perhaps  herself  had  cast  her 

In  such  a  mould  philosophique, 

Or  else  she  learn'd  it  of  her  Master. 

Sometimes  ascending,  debonair, 

An  apple-tree,  or  lofty  pear, 

Lodged  with  convenience  in  the  fork, 

She  watched  the  gardener  at  his  work; 

Sometimes  her  ease  and  solace  sought 

In  an  old  empty  watering-pot; 

There  wanting  nothing  save  a  fan, 

To  seem  some  nymph  in  her  sedan, 

Apparell'd  in  exactest  sort, 

And  ready  to  be  borne  to  Court. 

But  love  of  change  it  seems  has  place, 
Not  only  in  our  wiser  race; 
Cats  also  feel,  as  well  as  we, 
That  passion's  force,  and  so  did  she. 

Her  climbing  she  began  to  find 
Exposed  her  too  much  to  the  wind, 
144 


THE    CAT! 


THE   CAT= 


And  the  old  utensil  of  tin 
Was  cold  and  comfortless  within; 
She  therefore  wish'd,  instead  of  those, 
Some  place  of  more  serene  repose, 
Where  neither  cold  might  come,  nor  air 
Too  rudely  wanton  with  her  hair; 
And  sought  it  in  the  likeliest  mode 
Within  her  Master's  snug  abode. 

A  drawer,  it  chanced,  at  bottom  lined 
With  linen  of  the  softest  kind, 
With  such  as  merchants  introduce 
From  India,  for  the  ladies'  use, 
A  drawer  impending  o'er  the  rest, 
Half  open  in  the  topmost  chest, 
Of  depth  enough,  and  none  to  spare, 
Invited  her  to  slumber  there; 
Puss  with  delight  beyond  expression 
Surveyed  the  scene  and  took  possession. 
Recumbent  at  her  ease  ere  long, 
And  lull'd  by  her  own  humdrum  song, 
She  left  the  cares  of  life  behind, 
And  slept  as  she  would  sleep  her  last, 
When  in  came,  housewifely  inclined, 
The  chambermaid,  and  shut  it  fast, 
By  no  malignity  impell'd, 
But  all  unconscious  whom  it  held. 

145 


THE    CAT 


Awaken'd  by  the  shock,  cried  Puss, 
"  Was  ever  cat  attended  thus ! 
The  open  drawer  was  left,  I  see, 
Merely  to  prove  a  nest  for  me; 
For  soon  as  I  was  well  composed, 
Then  came  the  maid,  and  it  was  closed. 
How  smooth  these  kerchiefs  and  how  sweet, 
Oh,  what  a  delicate  retreat ! 
I  will  resign  myself  to  rest, 
Till  Sol,  declining  in  the  west, 
Shall  call  to  supper,  when,  no  doubt, 
Susan  will  come  and  let  me  out." 

The  evening  came,  the  sun  descended, 
And  Puss  remain'd  still  unattended. 
The  night  rolled  tardily  away 
(With  her  indeed  'twas  never  day), 
The  sprightly  morn  her  course  renew'd, 
The  evening  grey  again  ensued, 
And  Puss  came  into  mind  no  more 
Than  if  entomb'd  the  day  before. 

With  hunger  pinch'd,  and  pinch'd  for  room^ 
She  now  presaged  approaching  doom, 
Nor  slept  a  single  wink,  nor  purr'd, 
Conscious  of  jeopardy  incurr'd. 

That  night  by  chance,  the  poet  watching, 
Heard  an  inexplicable  scratching ; 
His  noble  heart  went  pit-a-pat, 
And  to  himself  he  said,—"  What's  that?  " 
146 


THE    CAT= 


He  drew  the  curtain  at  his  side, 

And  forth  he  peep'd,  but  nothing  spied; 

Yet,  by  his  ear  directed,  guess'd 

Something  imprisoned  in  the  chest, 

And,  doubtful  what,  with  prudent  care 

Resolved  it  should  continue  there. 

At  length,  a  voice  which  well  he  knew, 

A  long  and  melancholy  mew, 

Saluting  his  poetic  ears, 

Consoled  him,  and  dispelled  his  fears. 

He  left  his  bed,  he  trod  the  floor, 

He  'gan  in  haste  the  drawers  explore, 

The  lowest  first,  and,  without  stop, 

The  rest  in  order  to  the  top ; 

For  'tis  a  truth  well  known  to  most, 

That  whatsoever  thing  is  lost, 

We  seek  it,  ere  it  come  to  light, 

In  every  cranny  but  the  right. 

Forth  skipp'd  the  cat,  not  now  replete 
As  erst  with  airy  self-conceit, 
Nor  in  her  own  fond  apprehension 
A  theme  for  all  the  world's  attention; 
But  modest,  sober,  cured  of  all 
Her  notions  hyperbolical, 
And  wishing  for  a  place  of  rest 
Anything  rather  than  a  chest. 
Then  stepp'd  the  poet  into  bed, 
With  this  reflection  in  his  head. 
147 


THE    CAT 


Moral. 

Beware  of  too  sublime  a  sense 
Of  your  own  worth  and  consequence. 
The  man  who  dreams  himself  so  great, 
And  his  importance  of  such  weight, 
That  all  around,  in  all  that's  done, 
Must  move  and  act  for  him  alone, 
Will  learn  in  school  of  tribulation 
The  folly  of  his  expectation. 

William  Cowper. 


148 


THE    CAT- 


A  Wanderer 

Every  one  is  aware  that  a  perfectly  comfortable, 
well-fed  cat  will  occasionally  come  to  his  house  and 
settle  there,  deserting  a  family  by  whom  it  is  la- 
mented, and  to  whom  it  could,  if  it  chose,  find  its 
way  back  with  ease.  This  conduct  is  a  n^stery 
which  may  lead  us  to  infer  that  cats  form  a  great 
secret  society,  and  that  they  come  and  go  in  pur- 
suance of  some  policy  connected  with  education,  or 
perhaps  with  witchcraft.  We  have  known  a  cat 
to  abandon  his  home  for  years.  Once  in  six  months 
he  would  return,  and  look  about  him  with  an  air 
of  some  contempt.  "  Such,"  he  seemed  to  say, 
"  were  my  humble  beginnings." 

Andrew  Lang. 


149 


THE    CAT 


An  Outcast 

My  father  had  a  strong  sympathy  for  cats. 
This  was  the  result  of  early  experience.  He  and 
his  brother,  knocked  pitilessly  about  in  their  child- 
hood between  the  harshness  of  home  and  the  cruelty 
of  school,  had,  for  solace  and  alleviation,  two  well- 
loved  cats.  Affection  for  these  animals  became  a 
family  trait.  When  we  were  young,  each  of  us 
had  a  kitten.  We  gathered  round  the  fire  at  night, 
and  our  sleek,  well-fed  pets  sat  at  our  feet,  basking 
in  the  grateful  warmth. 

There  was  one  cat,  however,  that  never  joined 
the  circle.  He  was  a  poor  ugly  thing,  and  so  con- 
scious of  his  defects  that  he  held  aloof  with  invinci- 
ble shyness  and  reserve.  He  was  the  butt,  the 
souffre  douleur  of  our  little  society ;  and  the  inborn 
malignity  of  our  natures  found  expression  in  the 
ridicule  with  which  we  pelted  him.  His  name  was 
Moquo.  He  was  thin  and  weak,  his  coat  was 
scanty,  he  needed  the  warm  fireside  more  than  the 
other  cats;  but  the  children  frightened  him,  and 
his  comrades,  wrapped  snugly  in  their  furry  robes, 
disdained  to  take  any  notice  of  his  presence.  Only 
my  father  would  go  to  the  dim,  cold  corner  where  he 
cowered,  pick  him  up,  carry  him  to  the  hearth,  and 
tuck  him  safely  out  of  sight  under  a  fold  of  his  own 

150 


THE    CAT- 


coat.  There,  warm,  safe,  and  unseen,  poor  Moquo 
would  take  courage,  and  softly  purr  his  gratitude. 
Sometimes,  however,  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  him, 
and  then,  in  spite  of  my  father's  reproaches,  we 
laughed  and  jeered  at  his  melancholy  aspect.  I 
can  still  recall  the  shadowy  creature,  shrinking 
away,  and  seeming  to  melt  into  the  breast  of  his 
protector,  closing  his  eyes  as  he  crept  backward, 
choosing  to  see  and  hear  nothing. 

There  came  a  day  when  my  father  left  us  for  a 
long  journey,  and  all  the  animals  shared  our  grief 
at  his  departure.  Time  after  time  his  dogs  trotted 
a  little  way  along  the  road  he  had  taken  to  Paris, 
howling  piteously  for  their  master.  The  most 
desolate  creature  in  the  house  was  Moquo.  He 
trusted  no  one ;  but,  for  a  while,  would  steal  to  the 
hearth,  looking  wistfully  and  furtively  at  my  fa- 
ther's vacant  place.  Then,  losing  hope,  he  fled 
to  the  woods,  to  resume  the  wild  and  wretched  life 
of  his  infancy;  and,  though  we  tried,  we  never 
could  entice  him  back  to  the  home  where  he  no 
longer  had  a  friend. 

Memoires  (Tune  Enfant,  Athanais  Michelet. 


151 


A  Poet  to  the  Rescue 


=THE    CAT 


Passing  yesterday  from  the  greenhouse  to  the 
barn,  I  saw  three  kittens  (for  we  have  so  many  in 
our  retinue)  looking  with  fixed  attention  at  some- 
thing which  lay  coiled  up  on  the  threshold  of  a 
door.  I  took  but  little  notice  of  them  at  first ;  but 
a  loud  hiss  engaged  me  to  attend  more  closely,  when 
behold  —  a  viper !  the  largest  I  remember  to  have 
seen,  rearing  itself,  darting  its  forked  tongue,  and 
ejaculating  the  aforementioned  hiss  at  the  nose  of 
a  kitten,  almost  in  contact  with  its  lips.  I  ran  into 
the  hall  for  a  hoe  with  a  long  handle,  with  which 
I  intended  to  assail  him,  and,  returning  in  a  few 
seconds,  missed  him:  he  was  gone,  and  I  feared 
had  escaped  me.  Still,  however,  the  kittens  sat 
watching  immovably  upon  the  same  spot.  I  con- 
cluded therefore  that,  sliding  between  the  door  and 
the  threshold,  he  had  found  his  way  out  of  the 
garden  into  the  yard.  I  went  round  immediately, 
and  there  found  him  in  close  conversation  with  the 
old  cat,  whose  curiosity,  being  excited  by  so  novel 
an  appearance,  inclined  her  to  pat  his  head  repeat- 
edly with  her  fore  foot, —  with  her  claws,  however, 
sheathed,  and  not  in  anger,  but  in  the  way  of  philo- 
sophical inquiry  and  examination.  To  prevent  her 
falling  a  victim  to  so  laudable  an  exercise  of  her 

152 


THE    CAT= 


talents,  I  interposed  in  a  moment  with  the  hoe,  and 
performed  upon  him  an  act  of  decapitation,  which, 
though  not  immediately  mortal,  proved  so  in  the 
end. 

William  Cowper  to  the  Rev.  W.  Unwin. 


153 


THE    CAT 


The  Colubriad 

Close  by  the  threshold  of  a  door  nail'd  fast 

Three  kittens  sat;  each  kitten  looked  aghast. 

I,  passing  swift  and  inattentive  by, 

At  the  three  kittens  cast  a  careless  eye ; 

Not  much  concerned  to  know  what  they  did  there, 

Nor  deeming  kittens  worth  a  poet's  care. 

But  presently  a  loud  and  furious  hiss 

Caus'd  me  to  stop,  and  to  exclaim,  "  What's  this  ?  " 

When  lo !  upon  the  threshold  met  my  view, 

With  head  erect,  and  eyes  of  fiery  hue, 

A  viper,  long  as  Count  de  Grasse's  queue. 

Forth  from  his  head  his  forked  tongue  he  throws, 

Darting  it  full  against  a  kitten's  nose; 

Who,  never  having  seen  in  field  or  house 

The  like,  sat  still  and  silent  as  a  mouse ; 

Only  projecting,  with  attention  due, 

Her  whisker'd  face,  she  asked  him,  "  Who  are  you  ? 

On  to  the  hall  I  went,  with  pace  not  slow, 

But  swift  as  lightning,  for  a  long  Dutch  hoe: 

With  which  well  arm'd,  I  hastened  to  the  spot, 

To  find  the  viper, —  but  I  saw  him  not. 

And,  turning  up  the  leaves  and  shrubs  around, 

Found  only  that  he  was  not  to  be  found. 

But  still  the  kittens,  sitting  as  before, 

Sat  watching  close  the  bottom  of  the  door. 

"  I  hope,"  said  I,  "  the  villain  I  would  kill 

Has  slipt  between  the  door  and  the  door-sill, 

154 


THE    CAT= 


And  if  I  make  despatch  and  follow  hard, 
No  doubt  but  I  shall  find  him  in  the  yard." 
For  long  ere  now  it  should  have  been  rehears'd, 
'Twas  in  the  garden  that  I  saw  him  first. 
E'en  there  I  found  him,  there  the  full-grown  cat 
His  head,  with  velvet  paw,  did  gently  pat, 
As  curious  as  the  kittens  erst  had  been 
To  learn  what  this  phenomenon  might  mean. 
Fill'd  with  heroic  ardour  at  the  sight, 
And  fearing  every  moment  he  might  bite, 
And  rob  our  household  of  our  only  cat 
That  was  of  age  to  combat  with  a  rat, 
With  outstretch'd  hoe  I  slew  him  at  the  door, 
And  taught  him  never  to  come  there  no  more. 

William  Cowper. 


155 


THE    CAT 


Discipline 

A  female  cat  is  kept  young  in  spirit  and  supple 
in  body  by  the  restless  vivacity  of  her  kittens. 
She  plays  with  her  little  ones,  fondles  them,  pur- 
sues them  if  they  roam  too  far,  and  corrects  them 
sharply  for  all  the  faults  to  which  feline  infancy 
is  heir.  A  kitten  dislikes  being  washed  quite  as 
much  as  a  child  does,  especially  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  its  ears.  It  tries  to  escape  the  infliction, 
rolls  away,  paddles  with  its  little  paws,  and  behaves 
as  naughtily  as  it  knows  how,  until  a  smart  slap 
brings  it  suddenly  back  to  subjection.  Pussy  has 
no  confidence  in  moral  suasion,  but  implicitly  fol- 
lows Solomon's  somewhat  neglected  advice.  I  was 
once  told  a  pleasant  story  of  an  English  cat  who 
had  reared  several  large  families,  and  who,  dozing 
one  day  before  the  nursery  fire,  was  disturbed  and 
annoyed  by  the  whining  of  a  fretful  child.  She 
bore  it  as  long  as  she  could,  waiting  for  the  nurse 
to  interpose  her  authority ;  then,  finding  passive  en- 
durance had  outstripped  the  limits  of  her  patience, 
she  arose,  crossed  the  room,  jumped  on  the  sofa, 
and  twice  with  her  strong  soft  paw,  which  had 
chastised  many  an  erring  kitten,  deliberately  boxed 
the  little  girl's  ears, —  after  which  she  returned  to 
her  slumbers. 

The  Fireside  Sphinx,  Agnes  Repplier. 
156 


THE    CA^ 


A  Letter  of  Condolence 

As  one  ought  to  be  particularly  careful  to  avoid 
blunders  in  a  compliment  of  condolence,  it  would 
be  a  sensible  satisfaction  to  me  (before  I  testify 
my  sorrow,  and  the  sincere  part  I  take  in  your 
misfortune)  to  know  for  certain  who  it  is  I  lament. 
I  knew  Zara  and  Selima  (Selima  was  it,  or 
Fatima?),  or  rather  I  knew  them  both  together; 
for  I  cannot  justly  say  which  was  which.  Then 
as  to  your  handsome  Cat,  the  name  you  distinguish 
her  by,  I  am  no  less  at  a  loss,  as  well  knowing  one's 
handsome  cat  is  always  the  cat  one  likes  best ;  or  if 
one  be  alive  and  the  other  dead,  it  is  usually  the 
latter  that  is  the  handsomest.  Besides,  if  the  point 
were  never  so  clear,  I  hope  you  do  not  think  me 
so  ill-bred  or  so  imprudent  as  to  forfeit  all  my 
interest  in  the  survivor.  Oh,  no !  I  would  rather 
seem  to  mistake,  and  imagine  to  be  sure  it  must  be 
the  tabby  one  that  has  met  with  this  sad  accident. 
...  I  feel  (as  you  have  done  long  since)  that  I 
have  very  little  to  say,  at  least  in  prose.  Some- 
body will  be  the  better  for  it;  I  do  not  mean  you, 
but  your  Cat,  feue  Mademoiselle  Selime,  whom  I 
am  about  to  immortalize  for  one  week  or  fortnight. 

Thomas  Gray  to  Horace  Walpole. 


157 


THE    CAT 


On  the  Death  of  a  Favourite  Cat,  Drowned 
in  a  Tub  of  Gold-Fishes 

'Twas  on  a  lofty  vase's  side, 
Where  China's  gayest  art  had  dyed 

The  azure  flowers  that  blow, 
Demurest  of  the  tabby  kind, 
The  pensive  Selima,  reclined, 

Gazed  on  the  lake  below. 

Her  conscious  tail  her  joy  declared; 
The  fair  round  face,  the  snowy  beard, 

The  velvet  of  her  paws, 
Her  coat  that  with  the  tortoise  vies, 
Her  ears  of  jet  and  emerald  eyes, 

She  saw,  and  purred  applause. 

Still  had  she  gazed,  but  'midst  the  tide 
Two  angel  forms  were  seen  to  glide, — 

The  Genii  of  the  stream: 
Their  scaly  armour's  Tyrian  hue, 
Through  richest  purple,  to  the  view 

Betrayed  a  golden  gleam. 

The  hapless  nymph  with  wonder  saw: 
A  whisker  first,  and  then  a  claw, 

With  many  an  ardent  wish, 
She  stretched  in  vain  to  reach  the  prize; 
What  female  heart  can  gold  despise? 

What  cat's  averse  to  fish? 


158 


THE    CAT= 


Presumptuous  maid !  with  looks  intent, 
Again  she  stretched,  again  she  bent, 

Nor  knew  the  gulf  between. 
Malignant  Fate  sat  by  and  smiled, 
The  slippery  verge  her  feet  beguiled, 

She  stumbled  headlong  in. 

Eight  times  emerging  from  the  flood, 
She  mewed  to  every  watery  god 

Some  speedy  aid  to  send. 
No  Dolphin  came,  no  Nereid  stirred, 
Nor  cruel  Tom  nor  Susan  heard; 

A  favourite  has  no  friend! 

From  hence,  ye  Beauties !  undeceived, 
Know  one  false  step  is  ne'er  retrieved, 

And  be  with  caution  bold: 
Not  all  that  tempts  your  wandering  eyes 
And  heedless  hearts  is  lawful  prize, 

Nor  all  that  glisters,  gold. 

Thomas  Gray. 


159 


yiUkJmmi 


<£nmu  ajoaac  fait, 
<Jn  tame  nUttk  do  a 


THE    CAT: 


Education 

When  People  think  that  Kittens  play, 

It's  really  quite  the  other  way; 
For  when  they  chase  the  Ball  or  Bobbin, 

They  learn  to  catch  a  Mouse  or  Robin. 

The  Kitten,  deaf  to  Duty's  call, 

Who  will  not  chase  the  bounding  Ball, 

A  hungry  Cathood  will  enjoy, 

The  scorn  of  Mouse,  and  Bird,  and  Boy. 

Oliver  Herford. 


163 


=THE    CAT 


Marigold 

She  moved  through  the  garden  in  glory,  because 
She  had  very  long  claws  at  the  end  of  her  paws. 
Her  back  was  arched,  her  tail  was  high, 
A  green  fire  glared  in  her  vivid  eye ; 
And  all  the  Toms,  though  never  so  bold, 
Quailed  at  the  martial  Marigold. 

Richard  Garnett. 


164 


THE    CAT: 


Pussy-cat,  Pussy-cat, 

Where  have  you  been?" 
Tve  been  to  London, 

To  look  at  the  Queen/' 
Pussy-cat,  Pussy-cat, 

What  did  you  do  there? 
I  frightened  a  little  mouse 

Under  her  chair." 


There  was  a  wee  bit  mousikie, 

That  lived  in  Gilberaty,  O; 
It  couldna  get  a  bite  o'  cheese, 

For  cheety-poussie-catty,  O. 

It  said  unto  the  cheesikie, 

'*  Oh,  fain  wad  I  be  at  ye,  O, 

If  it  were  na  for  the  cruel  paws 
O*  cheety-poussie-catty,  O." 

Nursery  Rhymes, 


165 


THE    CAT 


A  Sea  Fight 

"Prince,"  said  the  White  Cat,  "let  us  be 
merry.  I  have  ordered  a  naval  combat  between 
my  cats  and  the  terrible  rats  of  this  country.  My 
cats  will  perhaps  be  a  little  embarrassed  because 
they  fear  the  water ;  but  otherwise  they  would  have 
had  too  much  the  advantage,  and  one  should  equal- 
ise matters  as  far  as  one  is  able." 

The  Prince  admired  the  wisdom  of  the  Cat,  and 
went  with  her  to  a  terrace  overlooking  the  sea  and 
the  assembled  fleets.  The  ships  in  which  the  cats 
embarked  were  made  of  pieces  of  cork,  and  sailed 
buoyantly  over  the  waves.  The  rats  had  joined 
together  a  number  of  egg-shells,  and  into  these 
their  sailors  bravely  climbed.  The  battle  was  hard 
fought.  The  rats  never  hesitated  to  fling  them- 
selves into  the  water,  and,  because  they  swam  so 
well,  they  were  many  times  on  the  point  of  victory. 
But  Minagrobis,  admiral  of  the  feline  fleet,  saved 
it  from  disaster.  He  attacked  and  promptly  de- 
voured the  enemy's  great  captain,  a  wise  and  ex- 
perienced old  rat,  who  had  been  three  times  around 
the  world,  and  whose  death  filled  his  followers  with 
despair. 

The  White  Cat  would  not,  however,  permit  the 
destruction  of  the  enemy.     She  was  a  sagacious 

166 


THE    CAT= 


ruler,  and  she  knew  that  if  there  were  no  more  rats 
and  mice  left  in  the  land,  her  subjects  would  live 
in  idleness,  which  is  a  dangerous  thing,  and  might 
make  them  disobedient  and  rebellious. 

La  Chatte  Blanche, 

Marie  de  Berneville  (Comtesse  d'Aulnoy). 


167 


THE    CAT 


Six  little  mice  sat  down  to  spin, 

Pussy  passed  by,  and  she  peeped  in. 

"  What  are  you  at,  my  little  men  ?  " 

"  Making  coats  for  gentlemen." 

"  Shall  I  come  in  and  bite  off  your  threads  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  Miss  Pussy,  you'll  bite  off  our  heads." 

Pussycat,  wussycat,  with  a  white  foot, 
When  is  your  wedding,  and  I'll  come  to't? 
The  beer's  to  brew,  the  bread's  to  bake, 
Pussycat,  wussycat,  don't  be  late. 

Nursery  Rhymes. 


168 


THE   CAT= 


Mere  Michel 

Mere   Michel   is    calling,   calling,   from   her   window 

high, 
"  My  pussy  cat  is  lost  or  stolen ;  find  him,  passers-by." 
Papa  Lustucru  is  walking,  walking  far  below; 
"  Your  pussy  cat  was  never  lost,  and  this  is   all  I 

know." 

Mere   Michel  is   weeping,  weeping,  by  her  window 

pane; 
"  Papa  Lustucru,  I  pray  you  bring  him  home  again." 
Papa  Lustucru  is  shaking,  shaking  hard  his  head; 
"  You  must  give  a  recompense ;  "  and  this  is  all  he  said. 

Mere  Michel  is  smiling,  smiling ;  — "  You  shall  have  a 

kiss. 
Bring  me  back  my  pussy  cat,  and  I'll  not  grudge  you 

this." 
Papa  Lustucru  is  hastening,  hastening  fast  away; 
"  Your  cat  was  for  a  rabbit  sold,  and  this  is  market 

day." 

French  Nursery  Rhyme. 


169 


THE    CAT 


The  Cattie  Sits  in  the  Kiln-Ring 

The  cattie  sits  in  the  kiln-ring, 

Spinning,  spinning; 
And  by  cam  a  little  wee  mousie, 

Binning,  rinning. 

"  Oh,  what's  that  you're  spinning,  my  loesome, 

Loesome  lady  ?  " 
"  I'm  spinning  a  sark  to  my  young  son," 

Said  she,  said  she. 

"  Weel  mot  he  brook  it,  my  loesome, 

Loesome  lady." 
"  Gin  he  dinna  brook  it  weel,  he  may  brook  it  illj 

Said  she,  said  she. 

"  I  soopit  my  house,  my  loesome, 

Loesome  lady." 
"  'Twas  a  sign  ye  didna  sit  amang  dirt  then," 

Said  she,  said  she. 

'*  I  fand  twall  pennies,  my  winsome, 

Winsome  lady." 
"  'Twas  a  sign  ye  warna  sillerless," 

Said  she,  said  she. 

"  I  gaed  to  the  market,  my  loesome, 

Loesome  lady." 
"  'Twas  a  sign  ye  didna  sit  at  hame  then," 

Said  she,  said  she. 

170 


THE    CAT= 


"  I  coft  a  sheepie's  head,  my  winsome, 

Winsome  lady." 
"  'Twas  a  sign  ye  warna  kitchenless," 

Said  she,  said  she. 

"  I  put  it  in  my  pottie  to  boil,  my  loesome, 

Loesome  lady." 
"  'Twas  a  sign  ye  didna  eat  it  raw," 

Said  she,  said  she. 

"  I  put  in  my  winnock  to  cool,  my  winsome, 

Winsome  lady." 
"  'Twas  a  sign  ye  didna  burn  your  chafts  then," 

Said  she,  said  she. 

"  By  cam  a  cattie,  and  ate  it  a'  up,  my  loesome, 

Loesome  lady." 
"  And  sae  will  I  you, —  worrie,  worrie,  gnash,  gnash,' 

Said  she,  said  she. 

Scotch  Nursery  Rhyme, 


171 


:THE    CAT 


Grisette  Dines 


Always  well  behaved  am  I, 
Never  scratch  and  never  cry; 
Only  touch  the  diner's  hand, 
So  that  he  can  understand 
That  I  want  a  modest  share 
Of  the  good  things  that  are  there. 
If  he  pay  but  scanty  heed 
To  my  little  stomach's  need, 
I  beg  him  with  a  mew  polite 
To  give  me  just  a  single  bite. 
Greedy  though  that  diner  be, 
He  will  share  his  meal  with  me. 

From  the  French  of  Mme.  Deshoullieres. 

THE    END 


172 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 


^ESOP 

Agathias 

Alnaharwany 

Arnold,  Matthew 

Baillie,  Joanna 

Baruch 

Baudelaire,  Charles 

Benson,  George  Chris- 
topher 

Benson,  Margaret 

Berthlet,  Thomas 

Boswell,  James 

Calverley,  Charles  Stuart 

Champfleury,  Jules  Hus- 
son 

Chateaubriand,  FRANgois 
Rene,  Vicomte  de 

Chaucer,  Geoffrey 

Coolidge,  Susan 

Cowper,  William 

Darwin,  Erasmus 

D'Aulnoy,  Marie  de  Berne- 
ville,  Comtesse 

Deshoullieres,  Antoinette 

Fielding,  Henry 

Froude,  James  Anthony 

Gardiner,  Ruth  Kimball 

Garnett,  Richard 

Gautier,  Theophile 

Gay,  John 

Goldsmith,  Oliver 

Gray,  Thomas 

Hamerton,  Philip  Gilbert 


Havard,  Henry 
Heine,  Heinrich 
Herford,   Oliver 
Herodotus 
Herrick,  Robebt 
Huxley,  Thomas 
Janvier,  Thomas  A. 
La  Fontaine,  Jean  de 
Lang,  Andrew 
LemaItre,  Jules 
Le  Vayer,  La  Mothe 
Loti,  Pierre 

Maine,  Mme.  la  Duchesse 
du 

MlCHELET,    ATHANAIS 

Mitchell,  S.  Weir 
Montaigne,  Michel  de 
Pollock,  Sir  Frederick 
Prior,  Matthew 
Repplier,  Agnes 
Salmon,  William 
Scollard,  Clinton 
Scott,  Sir  Walter 
Skelton,  John 
Southey,  Robebt 
Swinburne,    Charles    Al- 
gernon 
Taine,  Hippolyte 
Tom  son,  Graham 
tubebville,  geobge 
Wanley,  Nathaniel 
Wabneb,  Charles  Dudley 
Wordsworth,   William 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

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GENERAL  LIBRARY -U.C.BERKELEY 

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